


Stars in the Northern Sky

by HopeStoryteller



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: (Bold of you to assume there's only one), (Shane is not entirely responsible for those last two tags), (but he still mostly is), Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Magic, NaNoWriMo 2020, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Character, Useless Lesbians, Warlocks, Witches, Wizard Politics, Wizards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27368821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeStoryteller/pseuds/HopeStoryteller
Summary: Despite the best efforts of more than a few people, Azalea North is a wizard. Simply having an ability to do magic isn't enough, however. To rank up to anything further than a journeyman, you have to know people, the right people at that, and you can't piss them off.Azalea may have messed up a tiny bit on that last part. But it's fine, really, it's only her entire future on the line. There's no point to staying in the city anymore if there's no hope of getting her master's license from the local master. So why not head out to the old family farm for a while?Actually, there's several reasons why not. Azalea herself only knows two of them, but those two reasons should be sufficient to scare her off.They are not.
Relationships: Abigail/Female Player (Stardew Valley), Maru/Penny (Stardew Valley), Sam/Sebastian (Stardew Valley)
Comments: 70
Kudos: 41





	1. Stardew Valley

“Magic’s just science we don’t understand yet.”

—Arthur C. Clarke

* * *

Roughly every couple years, Murphy’s Comet passes by our world. It’s always during the early days of March. To the scientific community, it’s a  _ fascinating _ phenomenon. To the magical community, which I’m vastly more familiar with, it’s equally fascinating and infuriating.

You see, Murphy’s Comet isn’t called that for shits and giggles. 

(It’s also not called that at all, outside the magical community. But if given the choice between calling it Murphy’s Comet or P/2567 M5, I know I wouldn’t pick the latter.)

Ever heard of Murphy’s Law? Everything that can go wrong,  _ will _ go wrong. Magic is volatile at the best of times, but even more so when Murphy’s Comet is passing. Spells that would normally be perfectly safe morph inexplicably into dark magic. Something that would normally be easy, like a simple ignition charm, just doesn’t work for you. Your familiar (if you’ve got one) can’t sleep at night and neither can you, but during the day you sleep like a baby.

Nobody is sure why Murphy’s Comet does this, only that it  _ does _ , and that you’re better off preparing for the effects of it than attempting to prevent those effects entirely. If you’re in a position to do so, you could move your local chapter’s meeting of Hedge Mages Anonymous to next Saturday instead of this one. You could take night shifts at your job instead of stubbornly powering through the daytime, or you could always call out sick.

Of course, the issue with taking a night shift when you normally don’t, or calling out sick once every two years, is that the effects of Murphy’s Comet on magic-users aren’t exactly a secret. 

So I didn’t call out of work. I didn’t trade shifts. And now I’m on a bus to the middle of nowhere, staring out the window at the admittedly pretty countryside, and attempting to rationalize what I did somehow.

I’d like to say it wasn’t my fault. I’d really,  _ really _ like to blame it on the comet. 

But it’s not the comet’s fault. The comet may have contributed to my own poor decision-making, but in the end, the comet didn’t get me fired.

_ I _ got me fired.

That still doesn’t make me feel any better about it. 

* * *

Frowning, I shift in my seat in the back of the bus, and pull my old backpack closer to my chest. The blonde lady driving the bus (middle-aged, looks as tired as I feel) reaches over to fiddle with the radio dial, turning it down.

“Listen, kid,” she calls back.  _ “Technically, _ I’m not supposed to have the radio on. But you’re not tattling on me, are ya?”

It takes a bit for me to realize she’s actually talking to me. Then again, who else would it be? I’m the only person on this bus beside her, unless there’s someone invisible I don’t know about. I’d be more likely to pick up on that than the driver if there was.

“Why would I?” I ask. 

“Well, you could—”

“Rhetorical question. I don’t snitch.”

The driver makes a satisfied noise. “Good.”

I’m half-expecting her to keep up the conversation now. Maybe she would ask me what I’m doing on a bus to Stardew Valley. Maybe she’d ask me who I was visiting, and I’d either have to lie through my teeth or admit I’m moving to a farming community when I don’t know the first, second, or seventh thing about farming.

She doesn’t. Instead, she reaches back for the radio dial and turns it up again. A song by Queen comes on mid-verse, and I return to staring out the window at the countryside, shoving my pack onto the seat between me and the aisle as I do. It’s a lot… well,  _ greener _ than I expected it to be. Rolling hills covered in grassy pastures fly by out the window. Some are fenced, some are not. Some are filled with what can only be livestock—it’s difficult to tell for sure at this distance.

At some point, lulled to sleep by the monotone drone of the bus to my temporary home and the unparalleled vocals of Freddie Mercury, my eyes fall shut. I wake up a few hours later, spit several strands of brown hair out of my mouth, and pick up my glasses from where they’d fallen into my lap. I stuff them back onto my face.

Dusty. Of course they are. I pull them back off and clean them on my hoodie. Or, more accurately, I  _ attempt _ to clean them on my hoodie.

I really should have known better. That just made them worse. I hold my glasses up to my face and, looking through them, check to make extra sure that the driver isn’t looking. She’s not, but there’s the telltale blinking red light of a security camera and a sign beneath it.

It reads, in impossible-to-miss blocky black lettering:  _ By Riding This Bus, You Consent To Being Monitored By Joja Corporation, Inc. We Trust This, And Following The Rules And Regulations Posted In The Front Of The Bus, Will Not Be A Problem. Should That Be A Problem, You Should Have Already Left. _

Yeah, I get it, Joja are scumbag excuses for human beings—if they even  _ are _ human beings—and I can’t really escape them even in the literal middle of nowhere. I weigh my options, then shrug to myself, duck down behind the seat like I’m tying my shoes, and concentrate. My hands glow faintly with the dull red of my essence. Narrowing my eyes, I grip my glasses even tighter.

“Purifico,” I whisper. The glow of my hands shifts gradually yet rapidly to yellow, then diffuses to my glasses from my fingertips’ points of contact. The glow fades shortly after, leaving nothing but the black plastic frames—and hopefully, much cleaner lenses.

Once I’m sure there’s nothing left glowing, I sit back up and slide my glasses much more carefully back into their proper place: my face. Success! Much cleaner now, at the cost of feeling like I just did about ten pushups in a row.

A simple spell like that shouldn’t drain me at all, really. Yesterday was supposed to be the last day where Murphy’s Comet was passing, but those estimates do always have some margin of error. Besides: they’re done by  _ scientists, _ and we all know how reliable  _ those _ are.

It’s fine. Murphy’s Comet or not, I’m not  _ that _ tired—at least not any more so than usual. I blink back the last vestiges of sleep and look out the window again. Sun’s lower in the sky than it was, but it’s not quite dusk yet. The only real indication that we’ve traveled at all is that the rolling hills have given way to sharper, steeper mountains covered in green too dark to be grass.

The long road to Stardew Valley is certainly a sight to behold, even through a dingy old bus window that hasn’t been cleaned since I was alive. Still: we have to be getting close. Joogle Maps said it was about five hours from Zuzu City to Pelican Town. I should have looked at the time when the bus set off.

A quick look at my watch: nearly five o’clock. As if on cue, my stomach growls. With a furtive glance to the front, I open my bag…

“No eating on the bus, kid,” the driver calls back.

I groan. “Come on, I’m hungry.”

“Rules are rules. My boss is going to care a lot more about crumbs everywhere than if I’ve got the radio on.”

“I’m not going to get crumbs  _ everywhere, _ it’s literally a cheesestick!”

“Still no.”

“How do you even know I was going in my bag to get food? I could have been going in to get… I don’t know, a notebook or something. Or my cat.”

“You don’t have a cat. If you did, it would have gotten out by now.” The bus rumbles over a bridge. Past that, the landscape looks significantly drier than the lush green of before—although the . “Call it intuition, call it whatever you want, I don’t care. I’m not losing the only job I’ve got because you couldn’t wait another hour for your munchies.”

“Another hour,” I echo. “Is that it?”

“Mhm. We’re coming up on the Calico Desert. Through here, through those mountains up ahead—you can get up and look, just  _ be sodding careful _ —and we’ll be in the valley. First time?”

“Uh… yeah. Grandfather used to live there, but he died a while back. Why?”

“Make damn sure you’re watching when we cross into the valley. You  _ don’t _ want to miss seeing it for the first time.”

I mutter an assent, scoot past my bag, and stand up. Holding onto the other seats for support, I stumble forward until I can see properly through the windshield of the bus. There are mountains ahead alright, a pair of stony twins that tower above even the surrounding range. There must be a gap between them, yet from where we are it’s impossible to tell for sure.

There’s an entire desert between us and the mountains, after all. 

“You’re from Stardew Valley?”

The driver nods without taking her eyes off the road. “Pelican Town, born and bred. Born there, married there, divorced there, and odds are I’ll die there too. You moving in or something?”

I nod back. “Yeah. Moving out onto Grandfather’s old property. I think the place was called Northstar Farm?”

“Oh, I know it alright. Not much of a  _ farm _ these days. The old man’s been gone for… eighteen years? Nineteen? Longer than my kid’s been alive, and she just turned eighteen last week.”

“Something like that. I was pretty young when he died.”

“I  _ bet. _ It’ll be nice to have someone actually living out there. Most activity Northstar sees these days is the kids pissing around out there, smoking pot or whatever it is they do.” The driver shrugs. “Not my business, but it might be yours.”

“Hope not.” I lean to one side and grip the seat back tighter as we hit a rather nasty bump. “I’m Azalea.”

“Azalea North?”

I make a noncommittal noise in response. Am I a North? Yes. Is my first name Azalea? Yes. Is my  _ full legal name _ Azalea North? No, but I  _ am _ a North in the ways that matter, and I doubt the driver would appreciate the nuance.

“Well, I’m Pam,” she says. “Pleasure to meetcha. Say, my Penny’s a sweet girl. Modest, optimistic—”

“Are you trying to set me up,” I ask, “with your daughter?”

“Unless you swing the other way, which I doubt.”

“Please. I’m about as straight as a worm on a string. Listen, I’m sure she’s nice and all, I’m just really not interested in romance right now. Got  _ way _ too much else going on. Also, I haven’t even met her yet.”

“True,” Pam amends reluctantly. She sighs. “If you tell anyone I said this,  _ particularly _ my girl, you’re going to regret it. But I wish she wouldn’t work quite so hard. You  _ need _ a break sometimes, and she just refuses to give herself one.”

“Huh.” I really don’t want to be this lady’s therapist. “You tried talking to her about it?”

“You think she’d listen to  _ me? _ Please. What she needs is someone who will treat her right. Boy, girl, neither, I don’t really care. She just needs  _ someone _ who’ll listen to her, and she’ll listen to, and can keep her from burning herself out.”

“Well, uh… good luck with that.”

I retreat to the back of the bus before Pam can try to set me up with her neighbor’s kid next. I meant what I said: romance is really the last thing I need to get involved in right now. Particularly considering how things ended up with my last girlfriend, but also in general.

All I need to do is lay low, figure out how to pass as an actual farmer or at least a  _ wannabe _ farmer, and it’ll be fine. Or maybe it won’t be, because if the first person I’ve run into from my new home is a hedge mage without even knowing it, there could easily be more.

More magic users in general isn’t a problem. More magic users where Joja is involved, on the other hand, very much is. 

I hope, for both Pam’s sake and my own, that her bosses don’t know better than she does what her ‘intuition’ really is.

* * *

We pass through the tunnel roughly fifty minutes later. I look out the window a bit before we get to the light at the end of said tunnel. Consequently, once we’re through, I’m treated to the kind of view you only see in fantasy movies about saving the bees and protecting the environment, in that order.

It’s the sort of thing you see only in movies and, apparently, Stardew Valley. There’s more lush green forests, more rustic old pastures, and… the end of the road apparently. The bus slows to a stop with a  _ hiss. _ Pam puts the bus in park, opens the door to the outside, and turns to lean on her chair.

“Here we are: Stardew Valley,” Pam says as I grab my bag and come up to the front. “Follow the road until you get to a bigger one. Left is Pelican Town, right is Northstar Farm. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I say. “You too.”

“You’re w—what do you  _ mean, _ you too?”

I jab a thumb out the door. She follows my gaze to the suited man with a briefcase waiting at the stop, and mutters something involving Yoba, bears, and several biologically improbable sex acts under her breath. I pretend not to hear it.

“If that’s your boss, like I said. Good luck.”

Pam nods. Her knuckles are white where they’re gripping the back of her seat. “Just get going already.”

“Will do.”

I don’t. I pass Pam’s boss without even a faked nod of respect and keep walking until I’m around a bend in the path. Then, I duck behind a tree and raise a single hand. As I concentrate, my red essence becomes a deep indigo.

Without further ado, I whisper, “Quiescis.” 

The indigo glow expands to cover my entire body before evaporating, and everything goes quiet. My pounding heart is barely audible even to me. My breathing? Can’t even hear it.

Experimentally yet cautiously, I step on a leaf. It too is muffled. I suppress a yawn—not that it would matter if I hadn’t—and listen more closely.

The practical applications of a simple muffle spell, such as this one, are twofold. The first, more obvious application is that it helps keep you from being detected if you’re attempting to eavesdrop on someone. The second is that it makes any sounds you make quieter, and by doing so makes it that much easier to hear anything else.

Therefore, I can hear far too well when Pam’s boss says, “There simply isn’t demand for a bus line here any longer.”

“Is too,” Pam retorts. “I had someone all the way from Zuzu City just today. Haley takes the bus there and back every weekend. Her sister Emily goes to the Calico stop on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And—”

“And they will simply have to find an alternate mode of transportation,” the sleazy man in the suit says breezily. “Corporate’s already made their decision: two regular riders simply isn’t enough to justify the cost of gas for this bus alone, never mind the upkeep. And, since we aren’t in need of any other drivers in the area, I’m afraid we’ll be letting you go.”

“Oh, that’s  _ rich. _ Firing me literally a  _ month _ before I would have gotten the company pension, when we’ve had this amount of traffic for years now.” Pam spits at his feet. “Fine. I didn’t need this job anyway. Now run on home to your company mansion, little man, and think about why no one will ever love you.”

“Well, I was  _ about _ to offer you a deal. But now, I don’t believe I will. I expect the bus to be emptied of your belongings by this time tomorrow.”

“Oh, it’ll be  _ empty _ alright. Goodbye, Morris, and fuck you.”

I step back away from the path, but I don’t have time to cast any sort of spell. Even if I did, invisibility spells are hard for me at the best of times. In the end, I just shove myself up against the undergrowth and hope Pam doesn’t see me as she storms past.

She sees me. She stares at me, for a few long seconds. I stare back.

“Fuck you too,” she declares before continuing down the dirt path. She turns left at the intersection.

After a few moments, I go the same way but turn right.

* * *

Northstar Farm was simultaneously the pride of the family and its greatest shame, once. Sirius North was, perhaps, the greatest wizard ever to come out of the North family name. (So far.) He was a master wizard beyond compare, gifted in the ways of the arcane, and was even a potential candidate for filling Ferngill’s seat on the Council of Grandmasters. But he refused to  _ do _ anything with his magic. Instead, he 

Then, he died. Maybe it was sickness. Maybe it was dark magic, on his end or someone else’s. Maybe it was simply a tragic accident.

Whatever it was, and however little I understand my grandfather’s love of the rustic country life, I know one thing for sure: he would be rolling in his grave if he knew how overgrown his farm had become. It takes me the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening to even hack a path from the road to the farmhouse, and the farmhouse itself is…

...well…

...it’s not in the best shape, I’ll put it that way. I take one step onto the front porch and my foot crashes through the rotting wood. That’s honestly representative of a lot of things about this situation. The porch is in dire need of repair if not outright replacement, the roof is  _ definitely _ going to leak if it rains, and the door is on creaky, rusty hinges. The door’s lock is broken, too, but that’s quite honestly the least of my problems given that there’s got to be nothing worth stealing.

The entire property is overgrown enough that I should be thanking my lucky stars that the house is even still  _ standing. _ In theory, the house is on one of several ridges overlooking a river winding through the middle, and there’s a quarry somewhere to the southwest of the property. In practice, I can  _ hear _ the river, but I can’t  _ see _ the river, and there’s too much undergrowth to clear to even think about a quarry right now.

Right now, I’m going to deal with the house. One thing at a time. One very big, dusty, and falling apart thing at a time, but one thing at a time nonetheless.

This would be  _ so _ much easier if I had orange essence instead of red. Or green, or yellow, or really  _ anything _ but red. As it is, there had better be somewhere to get food in town, because my supply of cheesesticks, granola bars, and name-brand soda isn’t going to last very long, and I’m going to be  _ really _ hungry and  _ really _ tired after all this.

First order of business is to determine what needs to be taken care of  _ right now, _ what needs to be taken care of sooner rather than later, and what needs to be taken care of eventually. Getting rid of anything that’s not salvageable is a high priority, but not as high as making sure I won’t get rained on if the weather decides to be mean tonight.

The highest priority of all is making sure this house doesn’t collapse, because at this point I’m not sure how it’s still holding together. Magic, probably, and nothing even approaching my own. Grandfather might not have been the biggest fan of politics, to say the least—something I can relate to him wholeheartedly on—but that wasn’t out of any lack of talent. That was just because he saw how stupid the system was and decided to strike out on his own once he’d learned everything he could from it.

I could have done that, too. Maybe if I’d sucked up to my old master just a little bit more, and for just a little bit longer…

Well, it’s far too late now. It’s been far too late since before I started working at Joja. So, I square up my shoulders, bite my lip, and get to work. First is intervative magic. My hands glow orange as I kneel on the floor and plant them there. I close my eyes, whisper the incantation for a reversion spell, and will the floor to return to the state it was in when it was new.

The floor disagrees. I see red behind my eyelids. I scowl, concentrate, and force my essence back to orange. If the floor doesn’t want to go  _ all _ the way back, then maybe a few years? Three or four or five, not  _ that  _ much in the grand scheme of things. Just enough that it’s not in any danger of collapsing while I’m on it. This time, the floor bends to my will. When I open my eyes, I do it to a still significantly dusty and nowhere  _ near _ new floor. When I test my weight near the middle, it holds. Good.

More relieved than I’d care to admit, I wipe the sweat from my brow and fumble for something vaguely edible in my bag. Near the bottom is a disposable water bottle, one I’d forgotten I had in there. I pull it out, unscrew the cap, and gulp at it greedily—just not for as long as I’d like. Got to conserve my supplies until I know where I can get more, and given that it’s almost dusk, there’s no  _ way _ the store will be open now.

Is there even a store in Pelican Town? I sure hope so. For a few, fun moments, I even entertain the ridiculous yet satisfying possibility of threatening to set Morris on fire if he doesn’t give Pam back her job so I can pick up some things I can’t get around here.

On the other, more logical hand: Pelican Town  _ has _ to have a general store of some kind, Morris isn’t worth the exertion it would take to set him on fire, and do I really want to get myself in even  _ deeper _ trouble with Joja? 

(Do I want to, yes. Should I? Absolutely not. Will I? Sadly, no.)

* * *

In the end, I’m ready to fall over on the spot by the time Grandfather’s house is livable again. It doesn’t help that it’s gotten dark and, apparently, Murphy’s Comet has finally gotten far enough away that I’m tired at night again.

But it’s done. Done enough, anyway. The house is no longer in any danger of collapse, most of the unsalvageable stuff is gone, and I’ve got supplies to last the week, at least. I might have to ration my cheesesticks, but it’ll be worth it.

This  _ has _ to be worth it. 

Joja’s reach still extends here, because really, where  _ doesn’t _ it extend? Maybe the moon? But in a community unreliant on technology or science, a community far enough away from any of the big cities that it’s in disputed magical jurisdiction, a community that’s small and focused… well, farming, I guess?

This is about as far away from Joja as I’ll get. Besides, they don’t pay their HR department enough for them to figure out that Azalea is a relatively uncommon given name, and that the last person to legally hold the surname North died eighteen or nineteen years ago.

I’m not sure what I should do from here. But I’ll figure it out. I’ve got plenty of time to figure it out, now that I’m no longer with Joja. 

There is one undeniably good thing about losing my job. Actually, there’s a few, but there’s only one I’m thinking of as I drift off in a sleeping bag tucked into the corner.

I don’t have to get up at ass o’clock in the morning  _ ever again. _ That alone makes all it took to get here, and all I’ve left behind to do so, so worth it.


	2. Meeting the Family

The loudest rooster I’ve ever heard, crowing away at first light from somewhere to the south, wildly and vehemently disagrees with my grand plans of sleeping in. I’m good at ignoring loud noises, but those are loud noises I’m  _ used to, _ like traffic or the neighbors who never realized how thin the walls between our apartments were.

The only way I even know this is a rooster is vague memories of a show I watched as a kid. If I didn’t have those memories, I’d be much happier to call it  _ loud asshole _ instead. I roll over in my sleeping bag, flip off the air, and scrunch my eyes shut tighter.

I’ve almost made it back to sleep when that unreasonably loud call rings over the valley once more:  **_“COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!”_ **

So much for returning to dreamland. Maybe I can take a nap later today. Blearily, I open my eyes, and glare up at the ceiling. Am I  _ awake? _ Yes. Do I necessarily have to get  _ up _ now? No. So I don’t. Now’s as good a time as any to figure out what I’ll be doing today. I scootch my sleeping bag with me in it across the floor until my bag is within reach, unzip it, and grab a notepad and pencil.

What do I  _ need _ to do today?

First off, find  _ somewhere _ to get food and maybe some seeds or something. Farming can’t be that hard, if Grandfather did it while being the greatest wizard of his generation. And if I can’t farm, I’ll need to do  _ something _ to make money, or alternatively dumpster-dive once I run out of supplies from the city. On the other hand, country folk are probably the type not to waste any food and certainly not the type to leave any out for the raccoons and/or starving young adults.

Food is my top priority, then. Food and money, because you really can’t do anything without money in this world, and it doesn’t grow on trees. (Not for lack of trying on the part of some aspiring warlocks.)

After that, I need someone to fix up the house more than I can on my own. A wizard better than I  _ could _ work, but that would also mean having to deal with another wizard. Do I really want that? Absolutely  _ not. _ So, some kind of woodworker, or… what’s the word, carpenter?

There’s got to be at least one somewhere around here. If not, where on  _ earth _ do the locals get their barns and homes fixed up? They can’t  _ all _ do it themselves.

(If they do, I’m more screwed than I thought.)

Food,  _ some _ kind of way to get money, fix up the house. Once I’ve got the essentials down, maybe I can explore. I’ll need to do some exploring, anyway. I don’t have a map and I need to find the general store that has to exist somewhere.

Maybe they’ll have coffee. Or a coffee machine for sale.

_ Gods _ I hope that they’ve got coffee. I’m going to need it.

* * *

It takes me about two hours and a mental breakdown to find the general store, although really it’s a bit big for just a general store.  _ Pierre’s, _ reads the sign at the entrance, with hours beneath it. Closed on Wednesdays, apparently, and open from nine to five any other day of the week. I reach for the door handle and pull on it.

It’s locked. Of course it is, I’ve got a watch and it currently reads 7:59 AM. I glare at it and the sign before finally settling in to wait against the wall. For just a few moments, I let my eyes fall shut…

“You can come in, you know.”

My eyes snap open. “Huhwha?” I say intelligently.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” the man with thick glasses says. His slicked-back hair is the same color as his jacket, and upon closer inspection, he’s using his glasses to hide dark circles under his eyes the same way I am.

“That’s because you haven’t. Moved out onto Northstar Farm last night, I really just meant to shut my eyes for a few minutes, didn’t mean to just fall right back asleep. I’m Azalea.”

“Pierre,” he says in return. He offers me a hand. I shake it, and use it to pull myself away from the wall of his shop. “If you’re looking for farming supplies, you’ve come to the right place.”

_ “Farming _ —well, I guess… I  _ am _ living on a farm now. Might as well make the most of it.” I shrug to myself. “Sure. Don’t suppose you sell coffee, too? Late night last night.”

“Sell, no.” He holds open the door. I walk inside, and am immediately struck by how small the actual  _ shop _ part of the shop is. The rest must be a house or something. Probably Pierre’s. “So long as you don’t drink  _ too _ much, you can have it for free. I’ve got a pot behind the counter, and some extra mugs  _ somewhere. _ Just please do actually buy something.”

That’s how I wind up holding a steaming mug of coffee with more cream than I’d ever put in mine willingly, listening to this man old enough to be my father’s crash course on people to know in the area. The mug itself is a distinct shade of purple with spiral designs stenciled on with permanent marker. Pierre has a kid, apparently, and whoever said kid is, they’re good at hands-on things. Good for them.

“So,” I cut in once Pierre stops to take a breath, “you said the local carpenter was named Robin? She lives to the north of Pelican Town?”

Pierre nods. “With her husband Demetrius, and their kids Maru and Sebastian. Head on north up the mountain, listen for someone chopping wood, you can’t miss it.”

“Okay. And the place to buy food is the Saloon?”

“Head out the door, and you’ll be looking at it from the back. But, uh, before you do…”

“Yeah. Thanks for the coffee, I’ll admit I don’t really know the first thing about farming but I’m willing to learn, I might just need some advice on  _ what _ to buy.”

“There are  _ much _ worse places to learn,” Pierre says quite seriously. “Do you need  _ tools?” _

“Nope. Found some under a tarp in the house. Honestly, they were in better shape than the house itself.”

“Which is why you were asking about Robin.” Pierre receives a nod. “If you’ve got the proper tools—hoe and watering can are the essentials, anything else will help you clear out some of all that undergrowth—then all you need is seeds. Parsnips are always a good option to start.”

“Parsnips take… how long to grow?”

“Now  _ that’s _ what’s special about our little valley. Anywhere else, it takes a couple months. Here, all it takes is twelve or thirteen days.”

“Twelve days. As opposed to  _ sixty?” _

Damn. How powerful  _ was _ Grandfather when he died?

“Mhm. It’s the fertile soil. Legends say it was blessed by Yoba themself.”

“Right,” I say dubiously. “So I what, just water them every day, and that’s it?”

“To the best of my understanding, yes!” Pierre looks a little more closely at me. “Northstar Farm, huh?”

“Yep.”

“I can see the resemblance. You and your… grandfather?”

“Yep. You knew him?”

“Well as anyone knows anyone in the valley. He was… well, he was something alright. Very passionate about the things he loved.”

“Like… the occult?”

“Farming,” Pierre says. “Nature. I picked up a few things from all the times he came in here, and I know what seeds are sold in what seasons and why, but I  _ distinctly _ remember him saying I was not a reliable source when it came to the actual  _ growing _ of plants.”

“Of course you aren’t, dear,” says a woman with pigtailed green hair, standing in a doorway to the back. “Who’s this?”

“New farmer,” Pierre says. “Azalea, this is my wife, Caroline.”

“Hi,” I say faintly. “How long have you been there?”

“Oh, not  _ very _ long,” Caroline says cheerfully. Too cheerfully. “You’re old Sirius’s granddaughter?”

So she’s definitely been there for a while. That’s not good, I should have noticed her  _ long _ before then. I should have cast a proximity charm before I even got here, because I certainly can’t now.

“Yeah. That’s me. Moved out onto his old farm.” I stick my hands in my hoodie pocket and grin uneasily. “Like I said, hi. I’d… probably better get going, is there anything else I should know about now?”

Caroline looks at Pierre and raises an eyebrow. “You tell her about the parsnips?”

“Yes!” Pierre says emphatically. “Yes, I  _ did.” _

“Have you actually  _ sold _ her the seeds yet?”

“Ah. Yes. That.”

“Oh, good point,” I say, and try not to look too amused about how embarrassed Pierre looks. “If it makes you feel any better, I completely forgot too.”

“Doesn’t. It really, really doesn’t.”

“He’d lose his own head if it wasn’t attached to his shoulders,” Caroline says good-naturedly. She pats him on the arm. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, dear. Nice meeting you, Azalea.”

“Um. You too?”

Movement through the open door catches my eye. Before Caroline’s fully turned, something—someone? Sprints past it. I can’t make out any distinguishing features, only blue clothing and a purple hat. Or hair? Who knows.

Caroline leaves before I can decide what to do about that, if anything, and I’m left with Pierre. Pierre, who is very,  _ very _ hopeful that I’ll buy my seeds from him and not from Joja.

I’d buy my seeds from a monster living in the sewers before I’d buy my seeds from Joja.

* * *

The dirt road up the mountain to Robin’s home (and shop, apparently that’s a common thing in Pelican Town) is long, winding, and probably would be dangerous to drive either way on at night. Fortunately, I’m not driving and it’s still early afternoon once I’ve picked up my seeds, so I make the trip before I forget.

About halfway up is a guy crouched at the side of the road, peering into a ditch. He’s wearing all black, so he’s either emo, a wizard, or both. (There were a couple people in Zuzu City’s chapter of H.M.A. I knew who were both.) 

I know there’s a way to tell with magic if someone’s another magic-user, but I never got to learn it. My only way of knowing for sure is if someone knows something they shouldn’t, like Pam, or  _ does _ something they shouldn’t, like me. (Who apparently has no idea about that little fact, and I’m not about to enlighten her given that she currently hates me and she  _ already _ lost her job.)

This guy could be a wizard. But he’s probably not. Not a trained one, anyway—the outcasts of society are, often and not coincidentally, the ones with the greatest magical talent. That’s what makes the fact that people here knew my grandfather, and remember him fondly, even stranger.

But I’m not thinking about that. I’m thinking about the guy crouched on the side of the road. Robin’s house can’t be  _ that _ much farther. I’ll be there and back well before dark.

So I go to crouch beside him. I ask, quietly, “What’re you looking at?”

“Frog,” the guy says in a hushed tone. He doesn’t bother looking at me, instead points with a pale hand down.

There  _ is _ a frog there. It’s big, and green, and either the ditch is deep enough that it doesn’t see us or it just doesn’t care. Given how I easily could have mistaken the guy for a rock if I’d been traveling a little faster, perhaps even driving, I’d guess the first option.

“That’s a big one.”

He nods. “Biggest one I’ve seen this season. Well… the season just started, but still.”

“Big one.”

“Big one,” he repeats. We watch the frog hop away down the ditch until it’s out of sight. Once it is, the faint smile he had on his face disappears, and he turns to me.

“Azalea,” I say. “New farmer.”

I don’t offer him my hand. He doesn’t offer me his. He sticks his hands in his own hoodie’s pocket (his is a dark blue pullover, mine is a pale pink zip-up) and mumbles, “Sebastian.”

“Cool. I’ll, just…” I gesture vaguely at the road heading further up the mountain. “Need to find Robin, I heard she’s the carpenter, good luck with your frogs?”

“Thanks,” Sebastian says. “She’s not much further up. That way,” and he points without looking. By the time I’ve rounded the bend, he’s returned his attention to another, slightly less fat frog hopping around in the ditch without a care in the world.

* * *

Pierre was absolutely right: I was able to hear Robin chopping wood outside her home from well down the path. From behind, she’s an athletic, redheaded woman at the age where most people would be slightly past their prime, but she’s far too stubborn to get there herself.

I don’t really want to disturb a middle-aged redhead with an axe, so I watch and wait.  _ Chop. _ Hair’s tied up in a high ponytail, makes sense, wouldn’t want it to get in the way.  _ Chop. _ A thick brown vest’s been discarded off to the side, about halfway between the house and the chopping block.  _ Chop. _ Can’t say I blame her, it gets hot fast when you’re working outside.

“You just going to stand there, or—”  _ Chop. _ “You want to talk to me?”

“Uh,” I say intelligently.  _ Chop. _ “You’re Robin, right? The carpenter?”

“Uh-huh.” She sticks her axe in the chopping block without grabbing another log, wipes the sweat from her brow, and turns to greet me. “You must be the new farmer.”

“Yeah, that’s me. Azalea. Um…”

“How did I know?”

I nod gratefully.

“Well, I heard about you from my daughter. Maru heard about it from her friend Penny, and Penny heard about it from her mom. Pam’s—”

“The bus driver,” I say with a wince.

“Yeah, she doesn’t like you very much.” Robin walks a bit closer. “Don’t let that get you down. Woman’s got a grudge against most of this town for one reason or another, and somehow manages to never blame herself for her own problems.”

The woodcutter claps me on the shoulder in a way that’s meant to be reassuring. My eyes find the ground. “Getting fired wasn’t her fault.”

Maybe Morris  _ wouldn’t _ have fired Pam right then if I hadn’t left. Maybe he wouldn’t have fired her at all.

“Sure it wasn’t, kid,” Robin snorts. “I like Joja as much as the next woman, but if it wasn’t for her… let’s say  _ habit _ of drinking more than she should, they wouldn’t have had an excuse.”

They wouldn’t have had an excuse if she hadn’t outed herself on camera, either—but they couldn’t have seen the footage that fast. Unless, somehow, they did.

I should have known better than to ask for specifics on a Joja company bus. I should have known better than to  _ use _ magic on a Joja company bus, I’m lucky Morris didn’t come after me on the spot.

“If you say so,” I say dubiously. “Listen, the house out on Northstar Farm—”

“It’s a fixer-upper.”

“You can say  _ that _ again. I think I’ve got it to the point where it won’t collapse on me in my sleep, but somehow I get the feeling someone who actually knows what she’s doing would be able to do a better job.” I gesture at Robin. “That’s where you come in. How much would I owe you?”

“Probably more than you’ve got at the moment.” She shrugs. “But tell you what. I’ll come by after I’m done here, figure out what it’s gonna take on my end, and as long as you get me the materials, I’ll do it free of charge. You said Northstar Farm?”

“Yep.” I nod.

“Not too far then. I could use the exercise!”

I nod again, somewhat less emphatically. If she spends all day chopping wood, exercise is probably  _ not _ something she’s lacking in.

“Yeah, it’s about half an hour walk through town. Probably. Took me ten minutes to get to town and another twenty to get up here.”

“Oh, I never said I’d go through  _ town. _ Head on inside, ask Maru to show you the mountain path. Or Sebastian, if you can find him.”

I look at her strangely. “Sebastian? As in, darker hair hanging into his face the same way yours does, that Sebastian?”

“My son,” Robin says. “You’ve met him?”

“He seemed busy. I’ll go talk to Maru.”

* * *

If I have to guess, I’d say that Maru is Sebastian’s younger sister, and I’m somewhere between them in age. Maru is, in many ways, the exact opposite of her brother. She’s short and stocky and tanned, he’s tall and thin and pale. She inherited their mom’s red hair, albeit in a slightly darker shade. He got black hair from… well, certainly not from Maru’s dad, and if Demetrius is actually his  _ step _ dad that certainly explains why Sebastian simply being out somewhere is met with suspicion, while Maru is given free reign to stop by Pierre’s on the way back if she can.

I have to dislike Demetrius simply on principle, but I don’t think I’d like him very much even if he wasn’t a scientist.

“Sorry about my dad.” Maru laughs nervously as she holds some brambles out of the way to step past them. The ‘mountain path,’ as it turns out, is a perfect fit for one person alone but gets a little cramped with two people. “He’s…”

“A scientist?”

“I was going to say ‘overbearing,’ but yeah, that too. You know what’s really funny about that?”

“No,” I say. Another big difference between Maru and Sebastian: one is  _ very much an extrovert _ and it’s the sibling I’m currently with. The sibling who either hasn’t picked up on the fact that I’m not all that interested in what’s funny about that, or doesn’t care. Possibly both.

Maru’s cute and all, but I’m not sure how well I’d get along with someone who can willingly live with a scientist, and even  _ help him in his lab. _ Also, there’s only so much social interaction I can deal with in one day and Pierre took up most of it.

“He was pretty weird just with you, and he’s  _ always _ weird with Seb, but believe me, he gets worse. You should see him when Seb’s friends come over. He genuinely thinks that Sam is going to try and get into  _ my _ pants when he and Seb have been making eyes at each other for  _ years. _ ” She audibly groans. “It’s taking them so long it’s painful. Even Mom’s picked up on it, and she doesn’t pick up on anything when it comes to romance.”

“Huh.”

“Point is, the only reason he wasn’t weirder with you is because he thinks you’re not my type. Dad’s got  _ no idea _ what my type is and it’s  _ hilarious _ how wrong he is.”

I’d kind of stopped paying attention, but part of that sentence snapped it right back. I look over. “Wait, are you trying to say  _ I’m _ your type?”

I get a thoughtful look from her before she shrugs. “Could be. Not really interested in starting anything new at the moment.”

Wait, if guys aren’t her type… and she hasn’t exactly  _ denied _ that girls are, and this sounds like a roundabout way of saying I’m cute. She’d be interested if not for…  _ wait. _

Holy shit.

“You’ve already  _ got _ a girlfriend,” I realize. “Damn. Congrats.”

Maru grins and puts a finger to her lips. “It’s a testament to how much you can get away with when everyone knows everyone, and everyone  _ thinks _ they know everyone’s secrets, that the new girl is the only one who’s picked up on it.  _ Everyone _ knows Lewis is doing a lot more than making sure all Marnie’s business needs are met.”

“Neither of those names mean anything to me yet.”

“Lewis is the mayor of Pelican Town. He does an okay  _ enough _ job that no one’s ever run against him, but I can’t really respect someone who strives for mediocrity. Marnie runs the ranch just south of your farm. She’s got cows, chickens, goats—”

_ “Chickens? _ Okay, cool, I know who to blame for being up at six in the morning.”

She winces as she cleans off her glasses, then sticks them back onto her face. “I am  _ so sorry. _ It’s not so bad up where I live, but if you’re a light sleeper I’d recommend either stocking up on coffee or just going to bed early. Six hours is usually enough for most people. Four or five is pushing it, but doable.”

“Six hours,” I say dubiously. “Aren’t you usually supposed to get eight?”

“Most places, yes! The valley is different. You get more rested from less sleep than you would need elsewhere—although you’re still just as tired if you pull an all-nighter. It’s  _ fascinating _ trying to figure out why.”

Well, I have a pretty good idea of why. It’s the same reason why crops grow faster. But I’m curious just how close Maru is. “Any theories?”

“I don’t really have anything concrete. I’m not as good a scientist as my dad,  _ yet. _ But—” She pauses, studies my face. “Did I say something?”

“I’m…” Well, I don’t really want to get into the truth today. Or ever. “Not really that into science.”

“Aww, that’s a shame. You’re not at all curious about how the world works?”

_ I know how the world works, and you and every other scientist is unwilling and unable to see that, _ I don’t say. Instead, I shrug. “Don’t have time to be curious.”

“O...kay. Well, if you keep going down the path, you  _ should _ come to your farm from the north and be able to just head… east, I think? Been a while since I’ve been out here myself, but I  _ think _ that’s roughly where the farmhouse is.”

“No, that sounds right.”

Maru nods. “In that case, I’ll leave you to it. Have fun, uh, farming. You like farming?”

“We’ll find out.” I give her a pointed look and add, “I  _ think _ I’ll like it about as much as I like social interaction.”

She, finally, takes the hint. “Well, see you around!” 

I watch her go. Only once she’s out of sight do I exhale in relief and make a beeline down the path the other way. It’s not long before the densely overgrown forest of the mountain gives way to the somewhat less densely overgrown forest of Northstar Farm. Grandfather’s farm.

My farm, now, and that’s the weirdest thing of all. But I get through the undergrowth before too long. The farming tools I’d found lying around the house, in much better shape than the house itself, come in  _ very _ handy for clearing a plot of land, and then digging holes for the parsnip seeds in halfway neat rows, and then planting said parsnip seeds, and then  _ watering _ said parsnip seeds.

If I maybe cheat a little after the third trek down to the river, that’s no one’s business but mine. Besides, it’s not cheating if you don’t get caught, and is it really cheating at all? No one can really argue with you using all the resources at your disposal. Magic just happens to be one of mine, intuitive magic in particular.

* * *

“Oh,  _ there _ you are!” Robin exclaims. “I was wondering where you got off to, Maru said she’d shown you the way back after all.”

I drop my watering can.  _ Somehow _ it lands in a way that doesn’t spill anything. Stupid, stupid,  _ stupid, _ as soon as she leaves I’m  _ going _ to set a proximity charm. Right now, I offer up a forced grin and scramble to pick up said watering can again.

“Hi,” I say. “Forgot you said you were coming by tonight.”

It’s not even dark yet, or anything approaching it. Robin follows my gaze to the sun, no insignificant amount above the horizon, and nods. “Got done earlier than I thought. Took a look at the house while you were… down by the river, I take it?”

“Yeah.” 

That much is true. I just  _ maybe _ wasn’t filling my watering can the conventional way.

“You know, if you get me the materials and the money, I could build you a well,” Robin says. “Won’t be  _ easy, _ but it’s doable.”

“Let’s get my house liveable first. What are you going to need?”

“Couple trees worth of wood. If you can’t figure out chopping it, just leave the trunks behind your house and I can handle it, it’ll just take a bit longer.”

“Okay. And what will I owe you?”

Robin hums a tune to herself. She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Couple more trees worth of wood. Make it three if you don’t chop them up.”

“That’s it?”

“Azalea, honey, you underestimate  _ just _ how long I’ve waited to get my hands on your farm’s wood. It’s sturdier than the rest of the valley’s. Not sure why.”

I look at the house. I can almost imagine Grandfather lying in that old bed, no idea that he’d soon be dead in his prime.

“Me either,” I lie easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehehe nano fic go brrrrrr
> 
> jokes aside: hope you're enjoying this as much as I'm enjoying writing it! <3 thanks for reading


	3. The Magic Word

My second and third days in Stardew Valley (not counting the day I arrived) go without too much incident. I get up, water my parsnips, wave to Robin working on patching up Grandfather’s house, and head out to explore, ideally without too much social interaction. Exploring, as it turns out, is easy. Avoiding social interaction is, unfortunately, much more difficult.

For the most part, introductions go fairly well. Marnie is apologetic but uncompromising about her roosters, and offers me a recommendation for where to buy earplugs the next time I’m in the city. Lewis is exactly as mediocre as Maru made him out to be, as much as I hate to admit that an aspiring scientist was right. Pam’s daughter, Penny, corners me in the saloon one day—as much as she can corner me when she’s quaking in her worn-out boots—to apologize for her mother.

For the most part, introductions go about as I expected, too. The manager of the local JojaMart, the same Morris that fired Pam, makes a very strong attempt to coerce me into buying a membership for Joja. I give him an equally strong, swear-laden rebuttal with all the things I would do before buying a Joja membership, including but not limited to eating dog food for the rest of my life, and end it by saying he won’t like what happens if he asks again.

(I find out from Penny the next day that someone, apparently, set the bus on fire before Joja could come reclaim it. She appreciates me taking the heat off her mother, but also insists I really don’t have to and also I need to be more careful.)

By the end of the third day, I’ve either introduced myself to or been sought out by everyone in town. Everyone, that is, except for one person. Her name, I’ve gathered, is Abigail. She’s a good friend of Sam and Sebastian, and she’s Caroline and Pierre’s daughter.

And, despite the fact that everyone seems to know  _ of _ her, and seems to think we’d get along well, I haven’t even caught a glimpse of her  _ anywhere. _

* * *

The fourth day starts as any other: with the manic crowing of Marnie’s rooster. I groan, pull myself out of my sleeping bag, and get ready for the day.

“Monitum circulo,” I whisper first, as is routine by now. My hands glow red, then shift to indigo. With a thought, the indigo pulls away from my skin, flying out into the air and seemingly disappearing from view. There’s a perimeter now on the ground, faintly indigo. Should anyone cross it, I will  _ know. _

Then comes the rest. Going to the bathroom, eating some wild onions I found outside yesterday, brushing my teeth and my hair. My ever-present hoodie goes on over a t-shirt and jeans, unzipped for the moment, showing off a particular cartoon character with scruffy brown hair, cat ears, and striped arms. I yawn and stretch as I head for the door, feeling rather like a cat myself. Maybe I should look into getting one. After all, there’s nothing stopping me from getting a familiar or a pet anymore. Not allowed because of my apartment? Well, I don’t live in an apartment anymore, now, do I?

The issue, of course, is that I’m not sure of the difference between a regular pet and a familiar, and I can’t exactly look it up online. But there has to be  _ someone _ who uses magic in the area, and actually knows it’s magic that they’re using. Maybe the librarian—he’s mysterious enough, and if he’s not maybe there’s a book in the library somewhere.

I always  _ could _ do some experimenting on my own. But even I know how bad an idea that is, so my only option is to hope there’s someone better around here and keep practicing on my own in the meantime.

Even if I don’t find anyone—which I might not—just being able to train on my own is an upgrade.

By the time I get outside, the extra wood I left for Robin behind Grandfather’s house is gone. There’s a piece of paper tucked in between two planks of wood in the wall. I tug it out and unfold it to a note from the carpenter.

_ Hey, Azalea! Finished late last night, didn’t want to wake you. Thanks for the wood. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call on your friendly neighborhood carpenter, alright? —R _

A well like she mentioned  _ would _ be useful in the long run, but not yet. Not until the parsnips come in, and I’ve sold them, and how horribly  _ sore _ I was on Tuesday after planting said parsnips will all be worth it. I’ll head back up to her place later today, maybe, thank her for fixing the old house up and see if she’s willing to buy any more wood. Gods know I won’t have any shortage of it no matter how much I sell to her.

At least I’ve got  _ something _ to sell. Food grows on trees, but money doesn’t, and I need money to  _ get _ food or food trees. Pierre sells fruit trees, but the odds of me having enough saved to get one by the end of spring are… low.

I’m good at  _ magic, _ not farming. I’ll have to get good at farming to live here, or at the very least halfway decent at it. I can settle for mediocre.

_ I can’t really respect anyone who strives for mediocrity, _ Maru’s words echo in my head. 

I scowl at nothing in particular. I’m not going to be told what to do by someone who wants to be a scientist. Someone who, by very virtue of their profession, believes a  _ very major part of my life _ just doesn’t exist.

I wouldn’t be me without magic. And scientists just  _ explain it away. _

Glaring at my parsnips, I decide, okay, maybe I should do something else right now. Like chopping down more trees. I need to do that at some point. It’s much more tiring than watering plants, but chopping out trees is also—interestingly enough—great stress relief.

So I set the watering can down next to my parsnips, and run back inside for my axe. Approaching the nearest tree, I heft the axe, and  _ swing. _ And swing, and swing, and swing again, until finally the pine creaks and groans and the trunk crashes down opposite me.

One more down.  _ Way _ more than I can ever hope to deal with to go. Maybe I’ll have them all cleared by next spring, if I’m here that long. I lean the axe against the stump, crack my knuckles, and takes a deep breath.

It happens when I let out said deep breath. The nape of my neck tingles with cognitive magic. Someone’s here. Whoever it is, they’re  _ right behind me. _

Rationally thinking, it’s probably Robin coming back to see how her upgrades are holding up, or the mayor finally getting out to my farm with the paperwork he mentioned, or any number of other things

But when something sets off a proximity charm,  _ you don’t think rationally. _ You act. And so I do. I spin around, hands already glowing red, and shout,  _ “LEVO!” _

It’s a simple spell, one of the first any aspiring student of magic learns: the levitation charm. My hands still glow, but so does the nearest body part of the intruder. They’re flung up into the air with a yelp, dangling by that body part, and held there so long as my concentration and my essence reserves hold.

And so it is that I find myself face to face with a girl around my age, held up by my magic gripping her by the heel. Purple hair. Blue jacket. Doesn’t look familiar.

She stares at me. I stare at her. It occurs to me, about ten seconds too late, what I’ve done.

“Shit,” I say.

The red doesn’t fade slowly, but winks out in an instant from both my hands and her foot. Dropping her isn’t a conscious decision so much as a side effect.

“You saw nothing,” I continue as she gets up. “Who are you, and what the  _ fuck _ are you doing on my property?”

“Oh, I’m Abigail,” she says breezily. She shakes the dirt out of her hair but doesn’t bother trying with her clothes. “Was that magic?”

“No. You didn’t answer my questions.”

“That  _ was _ magic. Holy shit, I  _ knew _ magic was real!”

“Of  _ course _ it’s real—” I cough into my fist, tuck my other hand behind my back. “Of course it’s  _ not _ real! Science is… sciency. And completely and utterly accurate. Scientists say magic isn’t real therefore it isn’t, you saw absolutely nothing, now what are you  _ doing here?” _

“Heard there was a new farmer in town, and that someone new moved out onto Northstar this week. Put two and two together and decided to come say hello.” Abigail settles with a hand on her hip and adds, “Had no idea that you were a witch. Or that you were an asshole.”

“I won’t argue the asshole part,” I say. “But I am  _ not _ a witch. I’m a  _ wiz _ —nothing at all! Just a regular person who was  _ sick _ and  _ tired _ of working a dead-end job in corporate hell and wanted to do  _ something _ with my life besides put more money in Joja’s coffers.”

“Rest of that might be true. But not being a witch?”

“I’m  _ not a witch.” _

“Wizard, then. Or whatever it’s called. User of magic.” Abigail smiles. It’s not a friendly one. “Teach me, or I tell  _ everyone.” _

She looks me in the eyes. I hold her gaze, even as I silently prepare to cast another spell.

“No one will ever believe you,” I tell her.  _ “Dis!” _

* * *

I swing my hand around. It glows with my familiar red, and Abigail goes sliding backwards across the earth. Nothing she can do stops it, and I don’t release the spell until she’s well out of sight. Once she is, I let out a sigh of relief, and return to my work.

I’ve barely started chopping the tree into usable logs when I hear, “So what’s the difference between a witch and a wizard?”

Briefly, I consider whether she’d leave me alone if I just whacked myself over the head with my axe. Honestly, she probably wouldn’t.

“Go away,” I say, and resume chopping.

“Well, there’s got to  _ be _ a difference, and whatever it is, it’s a difference that means a lot to you.”

“Dark magic. Go  _ away.” _

“What’s dark magic?”

I swing my axe to lodge itself firmly in the trunk, turn to glare at her again, and say, “Nothing  _ you _ need to know about.  _ Dis!” _

She comes back the third time about an hour later. “Hey, did you know when the last witch burning in Pelican Town was?”

“No,” I say, “and I don’t care.”

“Wasn’t even  _ that _ long ago! Actually…” Abigail squints at the book I’ve just now noticed she’s holding. “Hey, this was within Mom’s lifetime. She was like, two.”

“Good for her.” I continue to water my parsnips and ignore her.

“You’re not even a  _ little _ concerned?”

“Nope. I’m not a witch. Wouldn’t matter if I was.”

“Your knuckles are white,” Abigail announces. 

I set down the watering can. “You have eyes. Congratulations.”

“And you’re more of a bitch than Haley, but you can do  _ magic. _ I want in.”

“You really think it’s that  _ easy? _ Please. It would take…”

“Yes?”

I shake my head. “Go away, or I’ll make you. Again.”

“You  _ could _ do that,” Abigail agrees. “Did you know that there’s still a clause in the Pelican Town charter that allows for witch-burning? Penny found it for me. She spends more time in the library than I do.”

“Good for her.” I don’t pick up the watering can again. The parsnips are watered enough already. If anything, they might be a little waterlogged. “What does it say?”

“Uh… a whole lot of archaic language that makes my brain hurt, but it comes out roughly to that if it can be proven that a witch has done physical harm to the community, they receive a warning and three days to leave or face the flames.”

“Three  _ days? _ That’s way too long, if a witch is given a warning like that they’re  _ not _ going to leave. They’re going to entrench themself in and prepare for battle.”

“You sure know a lot about witches for someone who supposedly isn’t one.”

I spin at my heel. If looks could kill, she’d be six feet under. “I am  _ not _ a witch. Besides, witches aren’t any more dangerous to their communities than anyone else. They’re more dangerous to  _ themselves, _ if anything.”

“Why?” Abigail decides she’s not getting an answer and says, “Okay, sure, there’s a difference. But you use magic, and  _ someone _ set the bus on fire.”

“I would wager my very  _ soul _ that the bus was not magically set on fire. Isn’t it common knowledge at this point that it was Pam?”

“Is it? Pam’s lived here a lot longer than you have, and Joja wants  _ someone _ to pay for their bus. If they need a scapegoat, and there’s someone who openly uses magic—”

“I do not openly use magic.”

“Maybe not, but it’s my word against yours.”

I stare her down for a long moment. “Are you threatening me?”

“Doesn’t have to be a threat. You  _ could _ just teach me magic.”

“You’re threatening me with being a magic user… to get me to teach you magic.”

“That about covers it, yep!”

“You do that, you’re never learning magic.”

“From you,” she says. “Could always go bug the wizard.”

My breath catches in my throat. “The  _ wizard?” _

Abigail shakes her head disapprovingly. “Oh no. You don’t get to ignore my questions and then expect answers from me. You teach me about magic, I’ll tell you everything you want to know about the valley and the weird old man in his tower.”

“I… I  _ can’t. _ I just can’t, okay?”

“Really? Can’t, or  _ won’t?” _

“Can’t,” I say. “To do anything with magic you need your essence, however much of it you have, unlocked by another wizard. I... don’t know the spell to do that.”

“You’re admitting that you don’t know how to do something?” Abigail snorts. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” She waits. “That’s what I thought. I’ll leave you to your farmwork. Be back around two?”

“Don’t bother coming.” My stomach growls, and I hastily amend, “Unless you bring food.”

“I can do that. Bring a better attitude.”

* * *

Abigail does bring food. She also brings far more questions than I’d expected, leaving me blinking at her in confusion.

“One question at a time, and no asking questions while I’m explaining the answers to others,” I say quite emphatically, reaching for one of a few bagged sandwiches. “I’m a wizard, not a mind-reader.”

“You can’t read minds?”

“The spell for that is dark magic.” I open the zipped plastic bag, pull the sandwich out, and go to take a bite before seeing the look in her eyes and sighing. “Dark magic is what separates wizards from witches—and warlocks too, actually, but we are  _ not _ getting into that right now. It’s… okay, so every living being starts their life with essence, and wizards use it to fuel their spells.”

I hold up my free hand. It pulses with a dull red glow. “It can usually be described as one of seven colors, corresponding to one of seven classes of magic. Mine’s red, so I’m best at the Intuitive class of magic. Dark magic, however, can come from any of these classes, and can be any spell at all. The only common link between spells classified as dark magic is that they drain your essence—permanently. Use too much dark magic, and you’ll never cast any spells again. Witches are users of dark magic. They tend not to  _ continue _ using dark magic for very long, given that even those with the most essence will eventually run out. A lot of former witches become warlocks.”

“Okay,” Abigail scribbles something down on a—is that a  _ notebook? _ Seriously? “So a wizard is any magic-user, a witch is a user of dark magic, and a warlock is…?”

“Are you  _ taking notes?” _

“Well, yeah. How else am I going to become a wizard?”

“Not everyone has the essence reserves— _ or _ the talent—to become a wizard,” I say flatly. “But… that  _ does _ kind of tie into your question about warlocks. You could always become one of those. Warlocks... are those who understand the study and theory of magic and use it to craft new spells. They’ve typically got little to no magical talent, and little to no essence.”

“Why?”

“Some are former witches. They used up their essence reserves through dark magic, but still understand perfectly well how magic works for those who  _ can _ use it. Some are friends or relatives of wizards. Some never used dark magic, but essence sort of… drains, with age. It’s why old people get sick easier. Essence doesn’t  _ physically _ protect you—if you get stabbed, for instance, essence can’t help with that. Although it could help by fueling a healing spell to un-stab yourself or something. But you’re healthier with essence than you are without. Less likely to get sick, you can get less sleep and eat less healthily than you should for longer without adverse effects. Next question.”

Abigail checks something off on her notebook. “Why are there different colors of… essence? What even  _ is _ essence?”

“I said one question at a time,” I look pointedly in her direction, and take a bite of my sandwich, “but I’ve got no idea  _ why _ there are different colors of essence, so I’ll just pretend you only asked the second one. Essence is… well, it’s a kind of energy, I guess. It isn’t  _ entirely _ the energy that fuels us, because you can lose all of yours and not immediately die, but it definitely fuels magic. Comes in any color of the rainbow, but it really depends on what color it’s closest to for what magic you can do with it most effectively. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. Roy G. Biv isn’t a popular mnemonic for nothing, you know.”

“Okay. Seven classes of magic, you said? What are they?”

“First, we’ve got intuitive magic.” I make my hand glow red again. Concentrating, I push it outward and say,  _ “Dis!” _ The grass whips backwards as if a strong wind just blew through them.

“Intuitive magic is… sort of, elemental magic.” I shrug. “Earth, water, fire, air, stuff like that. The push spell, the one I’ve been using, is really just using an increasingly strong burst of wind to push things around.”

“Intuitive magic,  _ red _ essence, fireballs,” Abigail repeats as she writes. “Orange next?”

I nod, and force the glow to shift into something approximating that color. “Intervative magic. Things relating to time. Nearly everything under this field is dark magic, which still doesn’t dissuade some idiots from trying to cause paradoxes, but they usually resolve themselves one way or another. Usually.”

“Know any spells?”

“One. Give me your phone?”

“It’s dead,” Abigail says, but hands it over anyway. I set down the barely-eaten sandwich on the bag and concentrate. “It was supposedly fully charged this morning, but it’s really,  _ really _ weird with battery life. Says it’s at fifty percent and then dies sometimes, and other times it stays on at one percent for  _ hours. _ Sam and I timed it once. Four hours, ten minutes, and fifty-two seconds.”

“How long ago was it  _ not _ dead today, specifically?”

“About an hour.”

Okay. That’s not  _ great, _ but it’s doable. A lot more doable than reverting the farmhouse to a slightly younger state. I close my eyes.  _ “Tergum in tempus,” _ I say, willing the phone to go back, not that much, just a  _ little _ bit…

...and I succeed. The screen turns on. The glow fades from my hands. The battery reads 89% charge when I pass it back to Abigail, with perhaps a smugger look than I should have on given that she’d threatened to have me burned as a witch.

“What the  _ fuck,” _ Abigail says. “So you… what, time-traveled my phone back to when it wasn’t dead?”

“Sort of, yeah. I reverted the phone back to the state it was in about an hour and a half ago. That short of a time is  _ much _ easier than, say, a couple years.”

“That… is  _ really _ cool. And it’s not dark magic?”

“Yeah. One of the only known intervative that isn’t.”

“Orange essence, intervative, time travel.” Abigail scribbles that down. “Yellow?”

“Curative magic. Healing magic of any kind? That’s going to be curative. You got stabbed? Curative magic. Running a fever? Curative magic. Necromancy? Curative magic, but that’s dark magic and also has some  _ serious _ moral issues.” I summon a yellow glow to my hands, and grip my glasses by the frame on both sides. “Also, cleaning things. Like my glasses.  _ Purifico.” _

The lenses clear up, much to my relief. Won’t stay clear for very long, but at least they’re clear  _ now, _ and I had some spell to show Abigail that didn’t involve stabbing. I doubt she would have appreciated me stabbing her to show off a healing spell.

“Yellow essence, curative, healing. Okay. How about green?”

“Trans magic,” I say immediately, completely deadpan. 

“...wait, actually?”

“Transformative magic,  _ technically, _ but if you were, theoretically speaking, born with an unwanted dick? It helps you to transition, although it takes a  _ whole _ lot of treatments and someone far more skilled than me to do something on that scale. Any kind of transformation counts as transformative magic, although if you try to transform, say, someone’s hair into spaghetti permanently, that’s going to have a  _ heavy _ essence cost. Also I’m not sure what the spell for that would even be.”

“Damn, and here I was getting excited,” Abigail jokes as she writes. “Green magic, transformative, trans rights.”

_ “Yes.” _

“How about blue?”

“Communicative magic. Mind-reading spells  _ would _ fall under communicative magic,  _ if _ the mind-reading goes both ways, but also: dark magic, not touching that shit, I  _ like _ being able to use magic. A better example is like… say you want to communicate with someone who speaks a different language. You can, briefly, be able to understand each other via magic.”

“You don’t know the spell.”

I shake my head and pick up the sandwich again, taking another bite before answering, “No, I know it. There’s just nothing to use it  _ on. _ Communicative is anything that involves linking separate entities, with two-way feedback.”

“O… kay. How about one-way feedback?”

“Indigo essence. Cognitive magic. Communicative is all about—well, communicating. Cognitive just gives feedback one way. So like… that mind-reading spell would fall under cognitive magic. Think sensing things.”

“They don’t seem all that different.”

“They’re not.” I take several bites in quick succession and swallow. “There was a reasonably popular movement a couple hundred years back to do away with cognitive magic altogether, and slot all of those spells under communicative instead. Didn’t take, in the end, so we’ve still got seven classes instead of six.”

“And number seven is violet?”

“Eliminative magic. Think things like destruction magic in video games. Any spell meant to harm others falls under the class of eliminative. So… telling you fireballs were intuitive might not have been entirely accurate, actually. Sorry.”

“So violet essence is for when you’re tired of being nice, and you just want to go apeshit.”

“I mean…  _ yeah. _ Pretty much.” I shrug, then finish my sandwich. “They don’t teach you much eliminative magic when you’re starting off, for obvious reasons.”

“Don’t want your apprentice going apeshit if you piss them off,” Abigail jokes, except she’s absolutely right. “So—”

“That wizard you mentioned,” I say. “What do you know about him?”

“Honestly? Not all that much. He lives in a tower to the west of the lake south of here.” She stands and points. “From here, Marnie’s ranch and Leah’s cottage are on the left side, his tower is on the right. I’ve never actually been, but Sam decided to prank him once by rigging a bucket of water over his door—”

“How is he  _ alive?” _ I ask.

“Good question. The wizard apparently thought it was funny, but not funny enough to just let him go. Sam disappeared for a few days and when he turned up again, he claimed he’d been turned into a frog. No one really believed him.  _ I _ didn’t believe him until you showed up.”

“Sam is lucky that’s  _ all _ he did. Anything else?”

Abigail shrugs. “Just rumors. Apparently his wife left him to go live in the swamp. Apparently he used to be a lot more involved with the town before I was born. And I guess, before old Sirius—that was your grandfather?”

“Yeah.”

“Before he died. They might have been friends.”

“Not surprising, if he’s a wizard too.”

“Wait—” Abigail holds up a finger. “Actually, no, I’m not surprised that your grandfather was a wizard. He was weird, but the  _ cool _ kind of weird, you know?”

I don’t remember very much about him, but from what I do remember… I nod.

“Yeah,” I say with the very faintest of smiles. “He was.”

We sit in silence for a while, me munching on a second sandwich, Abigail writing out more notes. Eventually, she looks up, and asks, “How can you tell if someone can do magic or not?”

“A master wizard has to unlock your essence before you can use it,” I say. “It’s  _ possible _ that this wizard is a master, and if he is… well, he can’t possibly be as bad as the one I was learning from back home.”

“He could teach me magic,” Abigail concludes. “As much as I love listening to you infodump about all this, I would like to actually learn how to do something myself at some point.”

“And I can’t unlock your essence. I’m only a journeyman wizard. That’s the last spell you learn before becoming a master wizard… and I know what your next question is going to be. Okay, so there’s four distinct rankings of wizards, formally speaking. Apprentice, journeyman, master, and grandmaster.” I reach for my axe and, holding it by the blade, trace a series of circles one around the other in the dirt with the handle.

“First we’ve got apprentice wizards.” I jab at the outermost circle. “Those are people who have only just started to train. They vary in skill level, by a  _ lot, _ but the important thing is that they haven’t passed any tests yet. That’s what distinguishes them from journeymen.”

Abigail nods, and points at the next biggest circle. “Journeyman wizards are…?”

“In the second half of formal training. You’ve managed to pass the first formal exam set by your master, usually on theory. Mine was on theory. For the final exam to become a master wizard, you must first be approved by both your master  _ and _ the local grandmaster to even take it.” I laugh bitterly. “The grandmaster’s approval is usually harder. But my old master wouldn’t even teach me the magic I needed to learn to pass the test, never mind approve me to take it.”

“What did you do?”

“Why are you assuming it’s  _ my _ fault?”

“Because you’re mean. Seriously, how could you not like  _ Maru? _ Girl’s a sweetheart.”

“She’s a scientist, and therefore her worldview has no room for magic in it, and that’s all I’m saying on the matter right now.” I clear my throat and continue before Abigail can keep trying to convince me that someone who doesn’t believe in magic does, somehow. “Anyway, then you’ve got master wizards. That’s where most wizards stop, and there is a  _ huge _ variety in skill level. You could have a master who’s only just passed their final exam and did so by the skin of their teeth, or you could have someone who’s been a master for hundreds of years and might actually be more skilled than the grandmaster of their country, but they just don’t give a damn about politics.”

“Oh god _ dammit, _ is there no escaping politics anywhere?”

“Course not. Anyway, grandmasters.” I poke the innermost circle, the smallest by far. “Every country has one, and they make up the Council of Grandmasters. There’s eighteen grandmasters at any given time, and I’m not even getting into the process for replacing one because that makes my brain hurt just to think about. The council is led by the Grandmaster Supreme, the current one is… I think his name’s Emeric Gray? He’s the Grandmaster of the Gotoro Empire.”

Abigail makes a face. “How about our grandmaster?”

“Bedlam Sylph. I don’t really know that much about them, to be honest? But from what I have heard, they’re really skilled. There’s… three people sharing a body, right? Not that unusual in the magic community, although I hear about two people more often. Anyway, those three people all make up Grandmaster Sylph, and together they’ve been able to manifest projections of whoever’s not currently in control. Or something.” I shrug. “I’ve never met them, but my old master didn’t like them, so clearly they’re great.”

“Anyone who would name themself Bedlam  _ has _ to be great,” Abigail agrees. “So… you think our local tower wizard is a master wizard?”

“Only one way to find out,” I say. “But I need time to prepare. When a wizard formally meets another wizard, there’s things you have to do, and I’m not pissing off a potential new master before I’ve even met him by  _ not _ doing those things.”

“Alright. Well, I’ll be busy on Thursday, and,” she sweeps a hand around to gesture at the still rather overgrown farm around us, “I think you’ll be too. How does Friday sound? Is that enough time?”

“Yeah. Come in the darkest clothes you have. Ideally black, but any other dark colors work in a pinch. And—let me do the talking.”

“I thought we  _ didn’t _ want to piss him off?”

“Yeah, we don’t. I can be nice when I want to be.”

“Just not where science is involved,” Abigail says pointedly. “Seriously. What did scientists do, kill your family or something?”

“My family is  _ fine, _ and primarily consists of assholes,” I reply. “Scientists just don’t believe magic is possible. You can cast a spell right in front of them, and they’ll explain it away as an electromagnetic pulse or something, or even a  _ coincidence.” _

“I don’t think…” She lets out a long-suffering sigh. “She’s one of my best friends’ little sister, okay? And while sure, she gets all the spotlight when Sebastian should get at least some of it, she really is a nice person. At least pretend you respect her. Please?”

“I can do that. I make no promises for Demetrius.”

Abigail snorts. “Oh,  _ please _ fuck with Demetrius as much as possible. Sebastian was holed up in my room for nearly a week and when Maru and Robin got worried, Demetrius shrugged and said he was probably off getting drunk somewhere. Sebastian is the  _ lightest light-weight I’ve ever met. _ ”

“Damn. Why does Maru look up to him?”

“Well, he’s  _ her _ father. He just isn’t Sebastian’s, and he isn’t subtle about that.”

Abigail heads back off into town with a wave. I get back to chopping down trees and clearing brush, and consider just how much I can mess with Demetrius without it coming back to bite me.

It’s not like I’m any stranger to shitty stepparents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✨ e x p o s i t i o n ✨ 
> 
> (if you think azalea infodumped a lot about magic now, yall should see my notes on what she _doesnt_ know)


	4. Stand on Ceremony

The parsnips are growing well, I think. I certainly  _ hope _ they’re growing well, but there’s really not much I can do except water them every day and dig them up on the twelfth day of growing. I’ll find out then whether they grew well or not, and by then it’ll be far too late to change it.

And… honestly? As foolish as it seems, I kind of like the fact that I’ll only know how well I did afterwards. It makes it that much more important to do well now, no matter how well I think I’m doing. After all, I could always be wrong.

For the time being, though, all I can do is water them daily and hope for the best. If these parsnips fail, I’ve heard from other townsfolk where I can go looking for wild roots and berries and spring onions. If the green thumb I may or may not have inherited completely fails me, I’ve got a backup plan.

I might need that backup plan, and I might not. But right now, the last thing I need to do is think about my parsnips. If I fuck up introducing myself to this master wizard, the absolute  _ last _ thing I’ll need to worry about is my parsnips.

I’ve got my robes. I don’t have my familiar, because I don’t  _ have _ a familiar and never got the chance to get one. The robes are dusty and slightly moth-eaten from how long they were hanging in my closet before I came to Stardew Valley, but the only really noticeable hole is easily hidden as long as I don’t turn around.

I wish I had a familiar. A nice, friendly little black cat—or really,  _ any _ cat—would be nice. Instead, I’m introducing myself to this new wizard, who probably knew my grandfather, alone.

Someone knocks on the door. I know who it is.

Okay, maybe I’m not going  _ that _ alone. I head for the door, and open it.

“What are you  _ wearing?” _ I ask, quite genuinely confused.

“For how edgy my parents make me out to be, you’d  _ think _ I’d own more dark clothing than this.” Abigail shrugs. “I don’t. Plus side, I didn’t have to get dressed.”

“So you came here, in your black and blue polka-dotted PJs, at… seven in the morning? Why are you even  _ up _ this early?”

“You said as early as possible. I get up at six.”

_ “Why?” _

“Why not?” She raises a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone. My parents think I get up at nine, so I have  _ plenty _ of time to fuck around and play video games before anyone starts bugging me to help with breakfast.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It  _ is! _ And you know, the funny thing about video games is that they wouldn’t be possible without science. You should come over sometime, play a couple rounds of  _ Prairie King _ with me. It’s  _ way _ easier on co-op. Sam’s always either busy or grounded, and Sebastian makes me look like a social butterfly.”

“You,” I say slowly,  _ “aren’t _ a social butterfly?”

“You thought I  _ was?” _ Abigail snorts. “Please. I’m probably more extroverted than people assume, but not  _ that _ much more. Nowhere near Maru’s level.”

“Okay, yeah, Maru definitely talks a lot.”

_ “But _ she makes it interesting. Most of the time. If she doesn’t, let her know, she’ll try something else. She’s good like that.”

“If you say so.” Something occurs to me, suddenly, belatedly. “Wait… are  _ you _ her secret girlfriend?”

“Uh… no? Maru has a secret girlfriend?”

“...shit. Yeah, she does. No idea who it was, I was beginning to think it was you.”

“Yoba, I wish. Nah, she’s super cute but I genuinely thought she was straight. I’d like a girlfriend.”

“Me too.” I shrug. “Not anytime soon. I don’t have my shit anywhere  _ close _ to together, and like you said: I’m mean. Doubt you’re the only person who thinks that.”

“Oh, probably not.”

“Although Pam did try to set me up with Penny on the bus ride here.”

“She tries to set Penny up with everyone.”

I stick my tongue out at her. “Now who’s the mean one?”

“Still you,” Abigail says. “So…  _ do _ I need to go home and change?”

For being pajamas, Abigail’s outfit isn’t actually half bad. She’s wearing a two-piece long-sleeved shirt and pants combo, black with dark blue polka-dots, and while upon closer inspection they  _ obviously _ aren’t proper wizard robes, she’s not a proper wizard. Or a wizard at all, yet. So she has an excuse.

I don’t, really, but in recent years the rules about what constitutes ‘proper’ wizard robes have slackened considerably, so my moth-eaten ones probably still fit the bill.

“No, you don’t,” I say. “Are you sure those are pajamas? They look surprisingly good for pajamas.”

“Yeah? What, do you just wear your hoodie to bed or something?”

“No,” I say defensively.

“Oh  _ Yoba, _ you  _ do. _ That’s—wow, you really  _ are _ a mess!”

“If I’m supposed to deny that, I’m not going to. Now, are we going to pay the wizard a visit, or are we going to stay here locked in a pissing contest until today is over?”

“Uh… I was waiting for you.”

I don’t blush. “Right. Sorry. Give me five minutes, I need to run to the bathroom first.”

* * *

There is a proper procedure to be followed when one wizard seeks out another to introduce themself, regardless of which wizard is higher ranking. Certainly, I  _ could _ just bang on the door and demand entry, but I wouldn’t be treated as a wizard then. I’d be treated as a regular, mundane human, and a rather annoying one at that.

I take a deep breath, then knock on the door three times.  _ Rap. Rap. Rap. _ I look back and nod to Abigail. She starts the timer on her phone.

“Three minutes?” She asks.

“It doesn’t have to be  _ exactly _ three minutes,” I concede, “but the closer we are, the better it is for us. Any last-minute questions?”

“Yeah, I—” Her stomach growls. “Did you bring breakfast? I skipped mine.”

I sigh, but go for my pack anyway. “I hope you like snack bars. Your dad’s got a special on them.”

Abigail makes a face, but takes the one offered. “I don’t  _ dislike _ them, but there’s a reason he has them on special, and that reason is that  _ no one _ particularly likes them. Still, I get the feeling I’m not getting back home in time for breakfast.”

“Probably not.” I get one of my own out, peel back the wrapper, and start chewing. I’m about halfway through mine when Abigail’s timer goes off. I wince, debate what to do with the half-finished bar—

“Just give it to me,” Abigail burts out. I do so, and then immediately knock on the door again. Three times.  _ Rap. Rap. Rap. _

She sets the timer again. I retrieve my snack bar and start chewing furiously.

“You’re  _ welcome,” _ she says after a moment, a hint of irritation to her words.

“Thanks,” I say between bites. Once I’m done, I stuff the wrapper into a side pocket of my backpack and hold out a hand for Abigail’s. She gives it to me, I tuck her wrapper in there too, and then the timer goes off once more.

_ Rap. Rap. Rap. _ Now, for the moment of truth.

“I am Journeyman Azalea North,” I say in a carefully neutral voice, “requesting permission to cross the threshold of your home. My business is to learn from a new master, should you be willing and able to take on an apprentice.”

For a few, tense seconds, there is silence. I don’t dare to look back at Abigail, or even take my eyes off the door. It’s thick, wooden. A few well-placed fireballs would bring it down in an instant, barring any protective charms.

Finally, from inside, a much deeper voice: “I am Master Maddox Rasmodius. Permission denied. Leave this place. You are not welcome here.”

“What? I—you can’t—” I take a deep breath, and a step back. “Very well. That’s honestly one of the nicer dismissals I’ve gotten, if you can believe that.”

Rasmodius does not respond. I sigh, and turn to leave. I don’t care if he sees the holes in my cloak at this point.

“Are you  _ leaving?” _ Abigail asks.

“Yes?”

“Well, you can’t do  _ that! _ You can’t just give up.”

“I can,” I say, “and I am. He won’t be the only wizard in the area. I’ll just have to find a different master. Somewhere.”

“You’re forgetting that you’re not the only one who wants to learn magic here. I’m not willing to wait on a  _ maybe.” _ She cracks her knuckles. “Honestly, I can’t believe you’re not acting like a bitch here, too.”

“I make a rule of not pissing off people who can turn me into a grease stain on the pavement with a single word.”

“That sounds like it would be dark magic.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then he wouldn’t want to use it, and also,  _ everyone _ knows he’s here. Even if he killed the only witness—”

“I’d like to think I’m a  _ little _ harder to kill than that.”

“Sure, okay, whatever you say. Even if he  _ did, _ everyone knows everyone. They’d be a lot more likely to believe Sam if we  _ both _ were grease stains on the pavement. Also, if he was going to turn anyone into a grease stain on the pavement, it would have been that dumbass.”

“You’re probably right on that much, but… still. Even if he doesn’t do anything to you, he  _ could, _ and I don’t want to be responsible for getting someone killed.”

“You’re not.” She smirks. “Watch and learn, Azalea North.”

I do watch as she marches right on up to the closed door and starts yelling at it. I also raise my hands, shift their glow from red to yellow, and whisper,  _ “Clypeus.” _

The shield spell is in place now, so long as my concentration holds: but it proves to not be necessary. The door opens to Abigail mid-rant. An old man, bearded, leaning on a gnarled wooden staff, stares out at her with tired eyes.

“I make no promises as to whether I will teach you,  _ or _ your friend,” Master Maddox Rasmodius says. “That being said: come in. You are Abigail, correct?”

“Uh… yeah,” Abigail says slowly. “How do you know my name?”

“Journeyman North said it.”

I’m pretty sure I  _ didn’t _ say it, actually. But before I can say as much, Rasmodius continues, “Put that spell away, Journeyman. It’s a shame that you have so little faith in your elders that you believe it necessary.”

Reluctantly, I let the glow fade. “The vast majority of that faith would be misplaced.”

He scoffs. “City wizards. I don’t know what I was expecting.”

“Yeah, they’re—”

_ “You,” _ Rasmodius emphasizes, “are arrogant beyond your skills. I will train your friend. She has significant potential and, more importantly, a desire to learn.”

“No, you—you can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.” My face feels suddenly hot. “Of course you should train Abigail, but I—I don’t think I’ve learned all there is to learn! I  _ want _ to learn more!”

“Do you.”

_ “Yes! _ I… please. I thought I’d never be able to continue learning magic when I left my—when I left Zuzu City. And sure, I could keep going with just what I’ve learned, but… knowing there was the possibility of learning more? I can’t just strive for mediocrity.  _ Please _ train me too. I’ll… I’ll do  _ anything _ .”

Rasmodius gives me a long, knowing look. It’s the kind of look that stares through your soul, the kind of look that finds all your secrets no matter how well hidden you think they are and bares them to the light. It’s not a good look, nor is it a good sign.

“I’ll give you a test,” he says at last. “Should you pass, I’ll train you. Should you fail, I expect to never see you again.”

“Thank you.” I can barely keep myself from whispering. “I won’t let you down.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m not doing this for you. If you want to thank anyone, thank Sirius. I loved him too much to not give a descendant of his, no matter  _ how _ insufferable, a chance.”

“Are you talking about my grandfather?”

“Do you know any  _ other _ Siriuses?” Rasmodius clears his throat. “Now, both of you, inside before the entire insect population of the valley finds its way through my door.”

* * *

Once the door is closed, and locked behind us magically and physically, Rasmodius ushers us around a bubbling cauldron. He’s hung his hat on a rack by the door, making it obvious even in the low light that his hair (and beard) is purple, not black or dark brown like I’d originally thought.

“Are you familiar,” Rasmodius asks at last, “with the creatures known as Junimos?”

“I am,” Abigail says. “Didn’t realize they were real, though.”

“Good, but this isn’t your test. Journeyman North?”

“They’re… spirits,” I say, racking my brain for the knowledge. In my defense, I haven’t thought about magical creatures in a while. “Forest spirits. Or they  _ were _ forest spirits, no one’s seen them in hundreds of years.”

“Or so city wizards believe.” Rasmodius shakes his head in disgust. “In fairness, the  _ only _ place I have seen them myself is in this very valley, but they aren’t exactly new. The first of them arrived shortly after I did, around sixty years ago.”

“Sixty  _ years?” _ Abigail stares at him. “You do  _ not _ look sixty. You look like you could be my  _ dad, _ not  _ my _ grandfather.”

“I’m  _ not _ sixty years old. I am... what year is it?”

“Uh… 3041? How do you not know what year it is?”

“Eighty-five, then.” He does not answer Abigail’s second question. “Whatever their motive, they do seem to possess limited precognitive abilities, and their numbers always increase shortly before a disaster of some kind. Before Sirius died, for instance.”

“He didn’t die of a cold,” I say softly. “Did he.”

Rasmodius sighs. “No, he did not, but it is not my story to tell, and now is  _ not _ the proper time. The junimo population is increasing once again. They are already at a level I have never seen before—and it’s clear at this point that the more junimos there are, the worse the catastrophe will be.”

“So they’re predicting the zombie apocalypse or something.”

“I most  _ sincerely hope not. _ ”

“Wouldn’t there be junimos everywhere if the zombie apocalypse was coming?” Abigail asks. “Since they’re attracted to sites of impending disaster and all, and that would be worldwide. I’ve seen too many horror movies to honestly think we  _ could _ keep it localized if it happened here.”

“True, but it  _ could _ start here, and be just here for long enough that the junimos are just trying to—”

“The junimos are  _ not _ predicting a zombie apocalypse.”

“Are you sure?” Abigail says, smirking. “Because if not, I know where I’m riding it out.”

_ “Quite _ sure. Now, many of them are localized to the abandoned community center, located to the north of Pelican Town. Should you wish for me to train you, I expect you to find a way inside and determine  _ what _ it is the junimos are worked up about, in any way you see fit.”

“That’s… it?” I ask. “Really? I was expecting something more like… slay a dragon, or something.”

“There haven’t been any dragons in these parts since  _ my _ grandfather was a boy. That is it. I trust you know what spells you will need and how to use them?”

“Of course.”

“Then go. If you cannot succeed, don’t bother returning.”

* * *

Abigail catches up to me before I’ve even passed Marnie’s ranch.

“What are you doing here?” I ask without looking.

“Well, he didn’t say I  _ couldn’t _ help you,” she replies.

“Aren’t you supposed to be training?” I quicken my pace. She follows suit. 

“Maybe.”

I stop in my tracks, and turn to look at her. Sky blue eyes meet olive green. “What did you do?”

“Told him I was going to the bathroom.” She waves a hand dismissively. “It’s fine, he mentioned needing some time to properly set things up anyway. Said I could come back tomorrow if I wanted and to get some sleep.”

“Imagine getting sleep.”

Abigail laughs. “I know, right? But really, he didn’t say I  _ couldn’t _ come with you and help.”

Turning away, I start walking again. So does she. “What makes you think I’ll need your help? What makes you think I’ll  _ want _ your help?”

“Well, I’m coming, and you won’t stop me.” I hate that she’s right. “And you  _ probably _ won’t need my help, never mind  _ want _ it, but I owe you one for getting me… magic lessons? Can I call them magic lessons?”

“It’s what I called them. If you need something to tell your parents, just call it a roleplaying group or something. I’ve heard of D&D campaigns that are more involved than actual magic.”

“Right. You know, you  _ could _ say thank you.”

I don’t. But I do bob my head in silent thanks, when she looks at me again.

* * *

The abandoned community center is locked.

It’s locked, and that wouldn’t be a problem normally, because unlock spells are some of the easiest spells there are. The one I learned is intuitive magic, so even easier for me. The spell doesn’t necessarily  _ pick _ the lock so much as make a convenient gust of wind rush through the tumblers, arranging them in just the right way.

It  _ seems _ like it will be easy. I raise my hand to the the door, and concentrate. The red glow reflects off the lock ever-so-slightly as I whisper,  _ “Aperio.” _

The spell rushes for the door, carried by the wind, only to bounce back harmlessly nearly an inch away. For just an instant, there’s a violet flash of someone else’s magic.

_ Someone _ put a magic suppression field around this place, and if it wasn’t Rasmodius, I’ll dig up my unripe parsnips and choke on them.

“Bastard,” I mutter under my breath.

“Thought you said this would be easy?” Abigail asks. “Genuine question. What was that?”

“Basically a forcefield. Prevents magic being used against whatever it’s protecting—in this case, the entire community center, although it should be fine once I’m inside.  _ If _ I can get inside. Can’t cast one myself yet, but believe me, I know  _ those _ when I see them. Bit weird seeing one in purple and not yellow. Bit  _ stupid _ seeing one here, when he  _ knows _ I can’t break that yet.”

“I mean, does he? You were  _ pretty _ confident in there.”

“He does now.” I turn to glare in the general direction of his tower, roughly southwest. “He’s probably watching us. Me, at least, although somehow I get the feeling he’s figured out by now that you didn’t go to the bathroom.”

“Oh, really, I never would have guessed,” she deadpans. “Hey, related question. You said this prevents using  _ magic, _ but would it prevent kicking the door down?”

“No, but—” I move to intercept her before she can do so. “Let’s save that as a last resort. We don’t want to look like we’re breaking in.”

“Well, we  _ kind of _ are. But if you insist…” She reaches into a pocket of her jacket and pulls out twin bobby pins. “Watch and learn, Azalea North.”

“That’s not even—” I sigh. “Is there a  _ reason _ you’re using my full name?”

“It bugs you.”

She fiddles with the lock with both hands on one pin. The other is stuck between her teeth. Her eyes are narrowed, and her brow is furrowed, and as I watch her with more interest than I’d care to admit, she takes one hand off the bobby pin and reaches for the doorknob.

It turns. She freezes, then withdraws her pin, grabs the other one, and tucks them both back into the jacket pocket. She looks at me meaningfully.

“That was fast,” I say, not understanding.

“That wasn’t me,” Abigail replies. “I didn’t  _ do _ anything yet. The door’s unlocked. It was unlocked the whole time.”

“I—are you  _ serious?” _

“Obviously not, Sirius was your grandfather. Also  _ really _ fucking dead.”

I open my mouth. Then I shut it again. “I want you to know that I hate you.”

“The feeling’s mutual. Are you going to go inside or not?”

Scowling at her, I shove the door open. The rusty old hinges creak as it swings, only to be cut off by the  _ bang! _ of it hitting the wall. For a few long moments, all I can do is stare.

“So you’re  _ not _ going inside, alright...” Abigail peers in behind me. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Oh.”

If I thought Grandfather’s house was bad, the abandoned community center is—at  _ least _ —a thousand times worse. If I had to guess, it’s been abandoned for a similar amount of time, but Grandfather’s house was simply neglected for… well, probably since he died.

There are scorch marks on the walls nearly everywhere. Not the kind of scorch marks that would come from regular fire, either, but  _ targeted _ scorch marks. This was done with magic. And whoever did this, people tend not to throw around fireballs for shits and giggles.

I don’t ask where the junimos are. I have a bad enough feeling about this already—but I’m  _ not _ about to let some pyromaniac with a vendetta against forest spirits ruin my chances of becoming a master myself.

* * *

We find a lot of charred leaves, and what appears to be the remnants of a tiny hut filled with ash, but no actual junimos are anywhere to be found upon a quick look through the community center. That’s either a good thing, or a really,  _ really _ bad thing.

“Maybe they escaped,” Abigail says hopefully.

I shake my head, and start toward a relatively unburnt cupboard on the wall. “I wouldn’t count on it. But I have to find something. Somehow. I can’t just go back empty-handed, you heard him!”

“Well,  _ clearly _ he didn’t know about  _ this.” _ She sweeps a hand at our surroundings. 

“Clearly, he didn’t,” I agree. “But I’ve been disappointed too many times to think I can just go back now. And seriously, what would someone have against  _ forest spirits?” _

I open the cupboard, not expecting to find anything, really. Instead, there’s a little green apple hiding there. An apple with eyes. An apple with a  _ face, _ and  _ legs. _ The apple… thing, takes one look at me and  _ screams. _ I leap back. It leaps to the floor.

All around us, cupboards and drawers and cabinets open, and more of the apple-shaped things pour out, screeching, trailing leaves charred and broken in their wake. They’re gone as soon as they’ve come, leaving me staring at Abigail.

“If those are the junimos, they’re... fine, I guess?” Abigail concludes. “Although I thought they were a bit… friendlier, usually.”

“They probably would be if someone hadn’t tried to set them all on fire. Have you ever been set on fire? Believe me, it’s not a pleasant experience.”

Now it’s Abigail’s turn to stare at me. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I say breezily.

Any further questions I don’t want to answer are cut off by a pained  _ squeak. _ We turn as one. Nearly everything in this room is hanging open now, but there’s one drawer that  _ didn’t _ have a junimo come out of it.

I open it. There’s a tiny green apple—apple-like spirit, I guess—huddled in one of the corners. The wood is stained dark green underneath them. The junimo looks up at me and shudders. Their next squeak is more scared than pained.

“Oh,  _ fuck,” _ Abigail says behind me.

“Agreed.” I call my own essence to my fingertips, then turn it yellow. The junimo squeaks wildly and scrabbles against the wood, futilely, to get away from me. “No, it’s—listen. I promise I’m not going to hurt you. This is a healing spell. It’ll make you feel better, okay?”

“I’m not sure they can understand you.”

“They  _ absolutely _ can’t, but they’re probably too injured to move. So let’s get this over with.  _ Sano!” _

For a few moments, I don’t see the abandoned community center, or the injured junimo. I see only myself, hands glowing yellow with that same accursed healing spell. That same accursed healing spell that might have been enough, if I’d only gotten there in time.

I blink back tears, and I’m in the present again. The glow fades. The junimo stands on shaky legs. They take one experimental step, then another, and then  _ leap. _ I catch them on instinct.

“Nice job.” Abigail claps me on the shoulder. “Still got to talk to them, somehow. Unless you think that their numbers were increasing  _ because _ of whoever attacked them? Which I don’t.”

“Yeah, me either.” I sigh. “That’s going to be the hard part.”

With absolutely no idea what either of us are saying, the junimo starts to purr. That’s somehow the least surprising thing about this situation—many spirits seem to adopt the affectations of cats, and junimos must not be an exception.

“Do you at least know a spell? Or… something?”

“Course I do.” I shift the junimo to one arm. My other hand glows red, then pale blue. “Communicative magic. In theory, that shouldn’t be hard.”

“Too much to ask that ‘in theory’ carries over to actually doing it?”

_ “Yep. _ I’ve… only done it successfully once. That was with all my essence. I… think that healing spell took more out of me than I thought.”

The junimo nestles themself into my arm and lets out a contented  _ chrr. _ I take a deep breath, touch my other hand to their forehead, and say,  _ “Verto.” _

They glow blue, faintly. I glow blue, but brighter. Gradually, oh-so-gradually, their glow grows stronger and stronger, until…

“Can you understand me?” I ask.

The junimo sits bolt upright and nods. In a high-pitched voice, they say,  _ “Yes! Green understand magic friend!” _

“Guessing that’s a  _ yes,” _ Abigail says wryly. Apparently she can’t hear them too. “You did it.”

“I  _ did _ do it!” I turn to her with a grin, only to suddenly be very aware of her hand. On my shoulder. Her hand, suddenly gripping my shoulder like her life depends on it. “Are… you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, right before she collapses. I catch her by the collar of her jacket—it helps that she falls onto me—and gently lower her to the floor.

Then the panic sets in.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck,” _ I say to no one in particular. The junimo wriggles out of my arms. I drop to my knees and scoot beside her. “Please be okay,  _ please _ be okay…”

I call my essence to my fingertips again—or rather, I try to. My hands faintly flicker red and return to normal, nevermind glow yellow. I’m… out?

_ “Fuck,” _ I say more emphatically. “Abigail—”

_ “Magic friend-friend tired,” _ the junimo says sagely beside me.  _ “Wake soon.” _

“Hi. I forgot about you.” I sit back on my heels and take a deep breath. “Okay. It’s fine, she’s fine, we’re fine, everything is  _ fine, _ and I don’t believe myself either.”

_ “Magic make magic friend-friend tired. Magic friend-friend _ —” The junimo headbutts Abigail’s arm gently.  _ “—okay. Sleeping. Wake soon.” _

“She’ll be okay, she’s just sleeping, she’ll wake up soon…?” I try, and get an affirmative chitter. “I guess that translation spell didn’t work quite as well as I hoped.”

_ “Magic good enough!” _

“I… guess so. Um… I’m Azalea. She’s Abigail and she will be  _ fine. _ What’s your name?”

_ “Green!” _

“You’re very green,” I agree. “Do you know who attacked you?”

Green the very green junimo makes an unhappy noise and burrows between my arm and my chest again. I stroke them absently, but they don’t start purring again. Eventually, they say,  _ “Bad magic. Not friend. Yellow. Yellowyellowyellow.” _

“It was… another wizard. With yellow essence?”

Green nods. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s a nod, but it’s a bit difficult to tell for sure since there’s no clear distinction between their head and their body. They headbutt me and say,  _ “Red.” _ Then they slip out again, poke Abigail’s arm, and say,  _ “Purple.” _

“She has violet essence?”

_ “Purple light! Purple light!” _

The same color as her hair, then. “That’s… weird. I thought you couldn’t see the color of someone’s essence unless it had already been unlocked. But… also, the rules must be different for spirits.”

Green makes a noncommittal noise, but before they can say anything—or  _ I _ can say anything—Abigail groans. 

“Oh, good, you’re not dead.” I don’t sound as relieved as I am, thankfully. “The fuck happened?”

“You say that like  _ I _ know,” Abigail mumbles. “My head hurts.”

“So you don’t normally pass out for no reason at random times.”

“No—I just remember suddenly feeling really, really tired.” She blinks hard up at the ceiling. “How’s the junimo?”

The junimo, apparently, has disappeared.

* * *

Midway through my recounting of what happened in the community center (because Rasmodius, apparently, had stopped watching once we got into the building) the old wizard holds up a hand to stop me.

“Listen, I don’t know what happened,” I say uselessly.

“I do,” Rasmodius replies. “And if you  _ don’t, _ then I would like to say some things to your former master and none of them are anything approaching approval. Did they tell you  _ anything _ about essence?”

“Well yes, but—”

“Clearly not enough. Are you aware of what a familiar is?”

“A wizard’s animal companion. Basically a glorified pet?”

“Not at  _ all. _ Wizards have familiars for a reason. Several, actually, but the  _ primary _ reason is to have essence reserves that aren’t your own to pull from.” Upon seeing my slightly lost look, he clarifies, “You  _ don’t have to use your own essence to cast spells.” _

Abigail gets it first, from where she’s seated against the wall with the steaming mug of green tea Rasmodius had insisted she take after seeing how pale she still was. “She somehow tapped into mine?”

Rasmodius nods. “There’s no  _ somehow _ about it. Without being bonded as a wizard and familiar, the only way to borrow the essence of another is through physical contact. What I’m more concerned about is that it is impossible to do this without your essence already being unlocked.”

Abigail chokes on her tea. While she recovers, I say, “The junimo we found said that hers was violet, but I thought that was just a spirit thing.”

“It is. But it wouldn’t  _ have _ to be if someone already unlocked your essence. So, tell me, Abigail: who unlocked yours?”

“I don’t know.” Abigail shrugs helplessly. “I didn’t know essence or magic existed a week ago. You’d probably have a better idea than me.”

“I… may have an idea. And if I am correct, then you have nothing to worry about.” Rasmodius retrieves his own mug of tea from a nearby table. “Tea, Journeyman?”

“Sure,” I say. The mug I summarily receive is a bright red one reading  _ Wizcon 3018 — Magic in the Air _ on the side. “So…”

“Did you find out what happened to the junimos?”

“Sort of. The one I talked to was probably attacked by a wizard. Someone with yellow essence—”

“Because that  _ certainly _ narrows it down,” Rasmodius mutters to himself.

“—and whoever it was got into the community center without disrupting your ward. Either they stole the key or picked the lock or did  _ something _ that didn’t involve magic, because it was unlocked when we got there.”

“And it would be completely reasonable to assume that whoever did this will be, at the very least,  _ somewhat _ involved in the disaster the junimos predicted. It’s too bad you didn’t find out what that disaster was.”

My shoulders sag. “I’m sorry. I’ll go now.”

“No, you most certainly won’t. Let me make this perfectly clear: I did not expect you to succeed.” Rasmodius gives me a pointed look and adds, “The purpose of sending you there was to determine whether you were someone I was capable of teaching. Ego needs work, but you’re teachable enough. For the time being, I see no reason not to take you both on.”

“I—” I swallow nervously, and manage a nod. “I won’t let you down.”

“Oh? I expect you to, at least once or twice. Letting others down is part of learning. It’s more important how you come back from that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to formally apologize for what I did to the junimos. most of them will be fine. (as for the ones who aren't: don't blame me, blame "bad magic not friend.")


	5. Foul-Weather Friends

Little by little, day by day, I start to develop a routine again. No matter what day it is, I get up with the sun and Marnie’s rooster. I water whatever crops I’ve got growing, pick any that are ripe, then head out. If it’s Saturday, I drop by Pierre’s once it’s open and pick up my supplies for the week—everyone else seems to go shopping on Sunday or Monday. If it’s a weekday and I’ve got extra time, I head into the forest to forage anything edible/valuable on my way to the tower.

No matter what, if it’s a weekday, I make it to Rasmodius’s tower by sunhigh. Some days, I run into Abigail on the way there. Other days, she turns up while I’m already waiting for the wizard to let us in. We study magic, usually separately, for the next several hours. Rasmodius usually evicts us by sundown, sometimes much earlier.

It’s one of those earlier days on a startling sunny evening in the middle of spring. I’d agreed to walk with Abigail as far as Pelican Town. We’ve passed both Sam’s place  _ and _ Emily’s by now, but at this point it’s a shorter trip back to the farm if I go the rest of the way with her.

Except today, she doesn’t go all the way back to the general store she calls home. She stops in front of the Stardrop Saloon.

“Today’s Friday, isn’t it?” Abigail asks.

“Think so, yeah,” I agree. “Why?”

Abigail shrugs noncommittally. “You ever been inside?”

“A couple times. Never stuck around long, just headed in to pick up some food and dashed out before the place really got busy.”

“Oh,  _ please, _ you’re missing the entire experience that way. Listen, Sebastian, Sam, and I meet up and hang out in the back on Fridays, you want to come? Could be good for you to talk to people who aren’t wizards, adults above the age of fifty, or both.”

“You say this like I enjoy talking to people in general.”

She gives me a look. Those brilliant blue eyes glimmer with mischief. “You aren’t fooling me, Azalea North.”

“Two can play at the full naming game, Abigail Piers.”

Abigail only grins. “Come on. If you  _ really _ need more motivation, I could use some moral support for coming out.”

“You’re gay?”

“Coming out as a  _ wizard. _ Of  _ course _ I’m gay! Well, bi, but still. We know this.”

“And you’re… telling your friends that you’re a wizard.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She sees the uneasy look on my face and adds, “Don’t answer that. They’re my  _ friends _ for a reason. They’re down with all kinds of weird shit, Rasmodius turned Sam into a frog for three days so he already  _ knows _ magic exists, and if magic and science really are that mutually exclusive, Sebastian will be  _ thoroughly _ on board with magic simply because of his sister.”

“I sense drama.”

“If by ‘drama’ you mean ‘blatant parental favoritism,’ yes, I absolutely mean drama. Come on. You’ve met them both.” She flings the door open with one hand and drags me in by the arm with her other, and we’re inside.

The saloon is dimly lit. Old-fashioned oil lamps flicker away as the centerpiece of every table, as well as on each end of the bar. The proprietor, a mustachioed portly man named Gus, looks up from wiping the bar down as we come in.

“Good to see you, Abigail, your friends are in the back, let me know if you want anything, you know the drill,” Gus greets. He looks to me. “And you’re… Ainsley, was it? Didn’t realize you were friends.”

“Azalea,” I say. “We aren’t.”

Abigail coughs into her fist. “She’s with me. Don’t mind her, she has the social skills of a dehydrated cactus. Come on.”

It’s not until we’re out of earshot of Gus that I hiss, “A  _ dehydrated cactus?” _

“Am I wrong?”

I sigh. Under my breath, I mumble, “No.” It should be too quiet for her to hear, and yet for a moment, her shoulders shake with silent laughter. 

She ducks through a doorway with a wave not at me. “Hey, guys, sorry I’m late, I didn’t want to come, you know how it is.”

“First off, fuck you,” says a voice that has to be Sam, “second off, you’re  _ earlier _ than usual, third off, vaguely depressing memes are Bastian’s thing.”

_ “Hey,” _ Sebastian protests, but without much bite to it.

“Or Shane’s, but he’s  _ depressed _ depressed. Not the fun, sexy kind of internet depressed that’s our generation’s whole thing, he’s just sad and hopeless and drinks a lot. I’m not sure he knows what a meme is.”

“You want to ask?”

“No.”

“Me either. And okay, you’re right, I’m a  _ bit _ earlier than usual,” Abigail concedes, “which should speak volumes to how much I love you both. Anyway, I brought a friend.”

“You more or less blackmailed me into this,” I say pointedly, “and we’re not friends.”

“You keep telling yourself that if you want. Get in here.”

I shuffle in, and raise a hand in greeting. “Hi.”

“Hi Azalea,” Sebastian says without looking up from the game he’s playing on his phone.

“Fuck yes, your name  _ is _ Azalea!” Sam exclaims. “Okay, hang on, that makes zero sense without context. Mom thought your name was Alyssa or something.”

“Nope,” I say dryly. “Azalea. Like the flower. Not that hard to remember.”

“No, it  _ isn’t, _ and besides, I make a point of remembering the names of pretty girls.”

“Wrong tree, Sammy,” Abigail says.

Sam shrugs. “Who said I was trying to climb it? She’s a girl, she’s pretty, and I remembered her name  _ far _ better than my mom did.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks, can you please stop arguing over me and just… go back to whatever it is you do here,” I say, scanning the room for somewhere to sit down. The back room is apparently some kind of storeroom, complete with barrels and miscellaneous broken-down furniture items. I sit down on top of a sideways barrel, cross my legs, and lean back against the wall.

“Yeah, uh… do you know what hanging out  _ is?” _

“Course.”

“Right,” Sam says skeptically. He leans into Sebastian and stage-whispers, “Are we  _ positive _ she isn’t a changeling or something? She knows absolutely  _ nothing _ about social interaction.”

“She lives under a rock,” Abigail says with a shrug.

“She has better things to do than waste time interacting with people she didn’t particularly even like back in Zuzu,” I say, “and also, she can hear you.”

“Whoops. Game’s up.” Sam leans onto Sebastian and presses a hand to his forehead in a fake swoon. “We’ll all never be heard from again. She’ll take us all up to space in her spaceship.”

“She doesn’t have a spaceship,” Sebastian says wryly, but does not shove Sam off or otherwise encourage the lighter-haired boy to move.

“How do  _ you _ know?”

“I don’t have a spaceship,” I say. “Although that would be pretty cool.”

“Told you they were weird,” Abigail says with a grin. She’s taken up a position crouched atop a vertical barrel.

_ “Hey,” _ Sam says indignantly. “I’ll have you know I am  _ perfectly one-hundred percent normal!” _

“Oh, of course. Aren’t we all?”

Sebastian audibly snorts. “Of  _ course. _ Because normal people absolutely do this.”

“Totally,” Sam says. “Hey, Seb, you think I can beat the—”

“No.”

“Oh come on, I didn’t even tell you  _ what _ I was going to beat yet!”

“Journey of the Prairie King,” Abigail gestures at the dusty old arcade machine in the corner, “what  _ else _ are you going to beat, Candy Crush?”

“You  _ can’t _ beat Candy Crush. There’s infinitely generated levels.”

_ “Exactly.” _

“Hey, it’s  _ possible _ to beat Journey of the Prairie King. Some guy online did it!”

“And he didn’t post proof, now, did he?” Sebastian cuts in. His phone lets out a chime. “Anyway, if any of us are closer to beating Candy Crush, it’s me.”

“And I’ve got the second highest score on,” Sam gets up from his seat and walks over to slap the side of the arcade machine, “this bad baby.” There’s a handprint clearly visible in the dust now, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care. Actually, upon closer inspection, it’s clear that while  _ most _ of the machine is dusty and disused, the control panel is completely clean.

“Yeah, yeah, get to it.” Abigail waves a hand dismissively. “If you make it past stage five your first go, I’ll buy the pizza.”

Lacking anything better to do, I relocate to a different barrel with a better view of the screen.  _ Journey of the Prairie King _ is some kind of shooter game. I watch as Sam maneuvers a pixelated cowboy around a very square arena, shooting all manner of equally pixelated enemies and dodging their attacks as best he can.

He goes  _ into _ stage five with three lives left.

He loses all three of them within the span of a minute and does not make it to stage six.

“Damn, that  _ looks _ hard,” I say with a wince.

“Oh, it  _ is,” _ Sam agrees. “Every fifth stage is a really,  _ really _ stupidly hard one. I made it to fifteen once when I was high out of my mind. Supposedly. I don’t remember it.”

_ “I _ didn’t know you were high out of your mind until after the fact,” Sebastian says, clearly amused. “Anyway, it’s your turn to pay for the pizza.”

“Nah, I got it,” Abigail says. “I said, if you make it to stage five—”

“Wasn’t it if he made it  _ past _ stage five?” I ask.

She winks at me and says, “Nope.  _ To _ stage five. Be right back. Don’t set each other on fire while I’m gone.”

With that, Abigail leaves me alone with her friends. Sebastian looks kind of bored. Sam, on the other hand, looks genuinely intrigued. Oh no.

“I left my lighter at home,” Sebastian mutters. Sam elbows him. “What?”

“So, Azalea,” Sam says.

“No,” I reply. “Not interested, don’t care, I’m just here for moral support.”

“Moral support for  _ what?” _

“That’s for her to tell you, and me to go home once she does.”

“Aww, at  _ least _ stay for the pizza.”

“I make no promises.”

There’s footsteps, but the girl who stumbles back in isn’t Abigail, it’s Penny, the shy red-headed girl with a book tucked under her arm and a determined look on her face.

“Hi, sorry, can I just… hang out back here for a bit?” Penny asks. “I want to keep tabs on Mom but I don’t want her to  _ see _ me, if that. Um. Makes sense.”

“Sure,” Sam says. “Maybe we’d better tell Abigail to get another pizza. Or grab your sister.”

“We’re not grabbing my sister,” Sebastian says with the most life in his words I’ve heard all evening.

“We’re not grabbing your sister.”

* * *

“What are you reading?” Sebastian asks Penny.

I’m working on my second slice of pizza. As I take the last few bites, the game over sound blares through the room. Sam lays down on the floor and stares up at the ceiling. Penny, meanwhile, doesn’t answer until she’s retreated from peering out at the counter again. Judging by the pensive expression she’s wearing, her mother is drinking about the same obscene amount that she usually does.

_ “ Summer Solstice, _ it’s the last book in the  _ Chronicles of the Equinox _ series, Gunther’s a huge fan too so he gets all the books as soon as they’re out, which is great for the three people in Pelican Town who read them! Um… it’s about a magician,” Penny begins hesitantly. “A bunch of magicians, actually. There’s this secret society of magicians that all meet up on the longest and shortest days of the year to all channel their magic into this… magic? Tree? Thing? And they all have to do it right, otherwise their home and possibly the world, it’s a little unclear, will be destroyed by a  _ huge _ earthquake. But some of the magicians have disappeared, and a couple of their kids have to find their parents and the others before it’s too late. It’s really,  _ really _ good.”

“That… sounds pretty good, actually.” Sebastian scrunches up his nose. “Wait, is  _ that _ what Maru was dressing up as for Spirit’s Eve? I thought she was just a very colorful witch or something.”

“Yeah, she was dressed up as Karia, that’s one of the main characters. She’s actually the one who… uh, do any of you mind spoilers?”

“I’ll probably forget them by the time I actually get there.”

“Not gonna read it, so I don’t really care.” Sam picks himself off the floor and begins Attempt #6 of the night.

“I use spoilers to figure out whether a book’s worth reading in the first place,” Abigail says lazily.

“Nope.” I shrug.

“Okay, so in this book… Karia's mom is one of those super important magicians that disappeared. But by now, she and the others have found her, and the other missing magicians. Karia’s a bit of a magician herself by now! But that’s the problem, she’s got a chance to stop all of this, to make it so that nobody ever has to channel their magic into the tree again, and the world can be safe  _ without _ all their lives revolving around that. But to do that, she has to give up her magic. Forever.”

I nearly drop my paper plate. I catch it, though, and put it in the trash before saying, “Well, that’s not a choice at all, is it?”

Penny looks confused. “What do you mean?”

“Why would you  _ give up _ your magic? Unwillingly, sure, I could see, but why would you  _ choose that? _ That’s stupid.”

“Weren’t you listening?” Abigail asks. “It’s to  _ save the world. _ I would, if I was in that position.”

“Well, that sounds like a you problem. I know I wouldn’t.”

“It’s… a story. Magic doesn’t really exist, neither do magicians, I thought it was kind of noble actually but…” Penny shrinks down into her seat. “I’ll shut up now. But you might not like  _ Chronicles _ then, Azalea.”

“No, definitely not. Who’s it by?”

“B. Sylph. I’ve never read anything else by them but Gunther said he’d keep an eye out if they wrote anything new after this. And it’s not like I’m not in the library a  _ lot _ already…"

_ B. Sylph the YA novelist _ couldn’t possibly be  _ Bedlam Sylph the Grandmaster, _ could they? And yet… why would a  _ Grandmaster _ write something so  _ stupid? _ Can’t be them, any of them.

“Hey, uh…” Abigail glances at Penny, then shrugs. “Actually, what you said about magic not really existing, isn’t… entirely accurate.”

“Of  _ course _ it’s not.” Sam glares over his shoulder. “I got turned into a  _ frog. _ For  _ three days.” _

“As you’ve told us at every opportunity since it happened,” Sebastian says dryly. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, Sam, but I don’t think you’d be alive if that was true. Seriously, what were you on, and where can I get some?”

“Magic. Just prank the old man in the tower out past Marnie’s place and you’ll see _ exactly _ what I mean.”

“Maybe I will. Could use a change in pace, anyway.”

_ “Boys,” _ Abigail emphasizes. “Magic exists and I’m not just saying that because of Sam. It does. The old man in the tower is a wizard.”

“How do you know that?”

“And how are  _ you _ not a frog?” Sam adds.

“Because I’m not a testosterone-fueled idiot who decided to prank a  _ literal wizard,” _ Abigail looks pointedly at the testosterone-fueled idiot in question, “and I’m one too. A wizard. I can do cool magic shit.”

“Cool.” Sebastian goes back to his phone.

“You’re a  _ what?” _ Sam’s attention is roughly jerked back to the game as the game over sound plays. “Oh for f… this doesn’t excuse you from explaining, Abigail.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve been taking magic lessons from the wizard for the past month or so. Check this out:  _ accendo.” _ A fireball flares to life in her now-glowing-violet hand. She clenches her fist, and it snuffs out again.

Showoff. She knows  _ damn well _ she’s better at eliminative magic than I am.

“That… is really cool,” Penny manages. “I, um… excuse me. I need to go to the bathroom real quick. Save some pizza for me.”

She dashes out the door.

“I’m one too,” I say wearily, “but don’t expect a demonstration. Can I go now?”

“Well, you  _ could,” _ Abigail says. “Or you could help us finish off the pizza.”

I do eventually leave. But one does not simply ignore the demands of an inconveniently growling stomach, and so I stick around a bit longer than I would have liked.

The weirdest thing is that for a few moments, on my way home, I almost want to head back in. I don’t, this time. But when Abigail invites me to come hang out again next Friday, I bring my homework.

* * *

The Flower Dance, typically held in the last weeks of May, is something everyone in Pelican Town looks forward to. At least, that’s what the mayor tells me while I’m selling my newly-harvested cauliflower to Pierre and debating whether there’s enough time left in spring to grow another crop. (In the end, I decide against it and buy more parsnip seeds instead. Those, I know for  _ sure _ I can grow before the season ends.)

When I bring it up with Abigail during our magic lessons the next day, she actually laughs out loud. “Lewis tell you that?”

“No, it was some other mayor,” I say dryly. “Yes, it was Lewis. How much is he stretching the truth this time?”

“Well, no one is going to explicitly  _ say _ that they don’t like it. Also there’s free food, so that helps, and there’s the one  _ official _ dance that’s horribly heteronormative at the end, but it’s optional to participate in that one and the rest of the festival is usually pretty fun.” Abigail leans in and whispers, “Don’t buy the flower tubs from Dad. He sells them for half the price the next day.”

“Good to know.” I wasn’t planning to buy the flower tubs from Pierre, given that I didn’t know they existed until Abigail mentioned.

“You actually want to come to this festival?” Abigail asks. She gets a blank look in return. “Did you even  _ know _ about the Egg Festival?’

“I did not.”

“Okay, you’ve got to come to next year’s, I need some  _ actual _ competition in the egg hunt. Maru’s too slow and methodical, Sam’s too focused on helping his brother to seriously try, and Jas and Vincent are literal children! Literal. Children.”

“Maybe.”

“I  _ knew _ about it,” Rasmodius says from his desk in the corner. He doesn’t look up, but instead continues poring over an old, dusty scroll inscribed with nothing I can read from across the room.

“Good for you,” Abigail glares at him, “but you still didn’t  _ come. _ I am surrounded by antisocial fools.”

“Aren’t  _ you _ a self-proclaimed antisocial fool?” I ask. She  _ did _ call herself that last Friday.

Abigail waves a hand dismissively. “Details. Hey, you should come to the Flower Dance.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“You too, Rasmodius.”

The wizard makes a startled noise.  _ “Me? _ I don’t think… I haven’t been to one since before you were born.”

“So? Could be fun. It’s free food.”

“In case you have forgotten, there is an impending disaster that will strike the valley in an indeterminate amount of time, and I intend to do everything in my power to stop it.” He clears his throat. “Free food, however, is always a compelling argument. I have never quite been able to master the mundane alchemy of cooking.”

“Wait,” I say slowly. “If you can’t cook—”

“The Stardrop Saloon started life with only takeout and delivery orders,” Rasmodius says, which doesn’t explain as much as he thinks it does. “Still… even if I don’t come myself, you both can have the day off. Tomorrow, correct? Enjoy your youth while you still have it.”

Abigail laughs and shakes her head. “Sometimes I wonder how in Yoba’s name you’re as old as you say you are. And sometimes, when you say things like that, I wonder how in Yoba’s name you aren’t older.”

“I had a  _ very _ old-fashioned upbringing.”

The rest of that day’s lessons go without incident, and Abigail and I walk down the path past Marnie’s ranch and Leah’s house laughing and joking as has become usual. We’ve almost reached the place where we split ways when Abigail turns to me and takes my hand in hers.

“Hey. Azalea.”

“Not full-naming tonight, are we?” I joke. In the half-light of evening, it almost looks like she’s blushing.

“I can and I  _ will _ if I have to. Just… I understand if you can’t make it to the Flower Dance, but please do try. Alright?”

I smile. My face feels hot. “Alright, Abigail Piers. I’ll do my best.”

“You’d better, Azalea North. You’d better.”

* * *

The Flower Dance is set to start at nine o’clock the next morning. After watering my crops and carefully setting the newly harvested potatoes in the shipping bin next to my house, I beeline for the forest clearing west of Rasmodius’s tower.

I get there at eight-thirty, much to the surprise of Pierre and Caroline still setting things up.

“Hey there, Azalea!” Caroline says brightly. “Here for the Flower Dance? Abby’s still asleep, she’ll be here soon.”

“Yeah, I’m… not  _ entirely _ sure how this works, to be honest,” I admit. “But if you need help setting things up—”

“We’re pretty much done at this point,” Pierre grunts out from under what can only be a tub of flowers he’s holding. “Unless you want to help me unload these?”

I pretend to think about it. “I’ll help if you pay me.”

Pierre laughs humorlessly. “I understand. Thanks anyway. I’ll manage.”

Caroline, watching him struggle, leans over to me with a mischievous smile. “I’d say he needs the exercise, but I do want to get at least  _ one _ dance from him today. Honestly, I could use more help with taking things down after the dance is over. I’d enlist Abby, but…”

“Yeah, I can help with that,” I say with a shrug. “So… there’s multiple dances? But one really official dance at the end?”

“Yep!” Caroline pulls herself up into the bed of Pierre’s truck and pats the spot beside her. I take a seat. “If you really want to participate in that one, I should warn you, there’s a specific uniform. Dresses for girls, suits for guys. You’re… hmm, my old dress might fit you.”

“Maybe I’ll pass on that one, then. This is about the extent of how formal I get.” I gesture at my leggings, flower-printed tank top, and notable lack of a hoodie.

“You look good,” Caroline says. “And nothing short of magi keeps you from getting at least a  _ little _ dirty out in the forest, so I can never really understand the people who go all out. You’re fine.”

“Thanks. So… the rest of the day is just regular dancing? Mingling?” I try not to wince.  _ “Socializing?” _

“Yep.”

I fail at not wincing this time. “Do you think I have time to run back to the house and grab a book?”

Caroline checks her watch. “If you quite  _ literally _ run, yes. If not, well, most people show up around noon anyway.”

* * *

The actual dancing starts around noon. That, in my opinion, is far too long to wait and be expected to socialize, so no one can really blame me for hiding behind a tree and reading. I haven’t really had the time otherwise, and the book  _ is _ due to be returned in a couple of days. So it’s as good a time as any.

_ Moonrise, _ the first book in the  _ Chronicles of the Equinox _ series, is actually… really, really good. It’s simultaneously better than and worse than I expected. Someone who genuinely thought giving up their magic was even an option couldn’t possibly be a good writer, never mind a good wizard, and yet there is a nonzero chance that the book is in fact written by Grandmaster Bedlam Sylph of the Ferngill Republic.

The magic system within  _ Moonrise _ is similar enough to reality that it’s obvious to any trained wizard reading it, but not quite similar enough that someone unfamiliar with magic would give it a second glance. The story is… not at all similar to reality, honestly, but it’s interesting, even if I already know the dumb decision Karia is going to make in the final book. I’m so engrossed in it, in fact, that I don’t take any notice of approaching footsteps.

The person making those footsteps doesn’t notice me either, actually, until they trip over me and we both fall to the ground in a heap. The book goes flying, thankfully landing open and cover-down.

“I’m sorry!” A hand is offered. I take it, and only realize after that it’s Maru pulling me up. “Oh. Hi Azalea. Sorry, I  _ really _ didn’t see you there. Didn’t expect anyone else to be, well…”

“Hiding?” I offer.

“Yeah, that’s the word.” She laughs and leans down to pick up my book, marking my page with her finger before closing it and looking at the cover.  _ “Moonrise? _ Didn’t know you were an  _ Equinox _ fan.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I’m more curious about the author than anything else. Although the book’s not bad.”

“Wait until you get to the part with the… actually, no, I won’t tell you. Trust me, you’ll know what part. That’s where I got super invested. Now I run an askblog for Karia when I’m bored.”

“You?  _ Bored?” _

“Okay, true. Maybe a better word is just… tired. Burnt out, I guess. I  _ love _ technology but sometimes, you just need something more forgiving. Don’t have to constantly worry about forgetting semicolons on an askblog.”

“Right,” I say like I didn’t lose her when she started talking about askblogs. “Um…”

“Yeah, this is yours, sorry.” She passes me the book. “Hey, let me know what you think when you hit the end, if you get the chance.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Maru waves awkwardly and turns to leave. It’s then that something she’d said earlier finally clicks, and I blurt out, “Wait,  _ else?” _

She squints back at me. “Huh?”

“You said you didn’t expect anyone  _ else _ to be hiding. Why would you hide? You  _ like _ social interaction.”

“I do!” She beams at me tiredly. “But by definition, I’d actually be an introvert. It’s not about whether you like social interaction or not, it’s about whether it drains you or fuels you. I like people a  _ lot, _ but they’re really tiring! Then you’ve got my brother, who hates the vast majority of social interaction but actually gets energy from hanging out with the few people he likes. It’s fascinating, really.”

“O… kay,” I say slowly. “What would I be?”

“Either an introvert, or an extrovert who really,  _ really _ hates people.” Her grin widens. “See you around, alright?”

“Alright,” I say. I don’t sit back down and return to my book for a while.

For a few minutes there, I actually forgot she was a scientist. Maybe there’s hope for her yet if she liked a book about magic.

* * *

There aren’t many things I appreciate as much as dancing, whether it’s me doing it or someone else. Talking is complicated. There’s so many missteps you can make even without factoring in if someone’s pro- or anti-magic. But dancing? All that matters is you, your body, and the music.

It would be  _ better _ if it was  _ slightly _ faster music, but partner dancing isn’t bad either. I hook up with Sam first, who regales me with an extremely long and not all that interesting story about why he isn’t allowed to DJ for the Flower Dance anymore and then shuts up after he steps on my foot. He doesn’t step on my foot again, though.

Next is Penny, who is significantly more confident on her feet than she is in her words. I can’t help but remember her mother trying to set me up with her on the bus. She  _ is _ pretty, very much so, but before I can fully work up the nerve to ask if she’s doing anything after the Flower Dance or tomorrow or anytime else, we’ve switched partners again.

After a brief, silent, and only slightly awkward dance with Maru, I retreat to catch my breath and consume some of the Stardrop Saloon’s catering. Gus’s burgers are great, no surprise there. 

“Hello,” says someone who I thoroughly did not expect to come.

I wordlessly wave and keep chewing. I swallow, and say, “Hi, Rasmodius. She got to you too, huh?”

The old wizard snorts. “She did no such thing. I decided to attend on my own.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I  _ quite coincidentally _ decided to attend on my own.”

“Totally.”

“I  _ live _ within a two-minute walk of the festival grounds. It wasn’t as if I was making a significant time commitment. I can always leave early if I so choose.” Rasmodius clears his throat. “You may not be denying that you came entirely because of your fellow student, but your reasons for agreeing are far more complicated than mine, and far more likely to be held in denial.”

“Really. What are your reasons, then?”

“To reunite with an old friend, if only for a little while. What are  _ yours?” _

“Well,” I shrug. “She asked me to. It would be rude for me to say no.”

Rasmodius stops mid-reach for a burger and gives me an unfathomable look. “When, exactly, did you begin to care about being rude?”

“I never said I did.”

“But you  _ did _ imply it.”

“True.” I shrug again. “I like Abigail. She calls me out on my bullshit and I genuinely don’t know  _ how _ we’re friends. I wouldn’t want to lose her.”

Rasmodius sighs the long-suffering sigh that people sigh when trying to help someone come to a realization they aren’t quite getting. He looks at me meaningfully, but eventually gives up and says, “Enjoy the rest of the festivities. I think I’ll talk to my friend and go home.”

“The only reason I haven’t yet is because Abigail hasn’t left the dance floor all day, and I’m  _ not _ leaving without talking to her. She’ll think I didn’t come at all!”

“Of course she will.” The wizard snorts. “I expect you both to be at my tower at the usual time tomorrow.”

“Of course,” I echo, and watch him go. He skirts around the crowd, walking swiftly yet purposefully to join the green-haired woman sitting on a fence. 

Rasmodius is… friends with Abigail’s mom? That’s not something I would have expected. And yet they certainly  _ look _ like they know each other, laughing and joking away away from the main crowd.

“You  _ came!” _ Someone shrieks, and then I’m tackle-hugged by the other person I know with purple hair. I freeze up. “Hi, Azalea.”

“Hi, Abigail. I’ve been here for three hours. Can you let go of me? It’s getting a little hard to breathe.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” She lets go of me, and I finally see what she’s wearing. It’s… a dress. Purple, to the surprise of absolutely no one. Thin straps, easy to move in, and it looks  _ really good _ on her. “Like the dress?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“It has  _ pockets.” _

“Holy shit.”

_ “Yeah!” _ My friend does a happy little twirl. “It works a bit better in summertime, but you know what? I won’t get cold if I don’t stop moving, now, will I?”

“I… guess not?”

“Now come  _ on! _ This is one of the last dances before the big one, and I  _ know _ you don’t want to be in the big one.”

Without so much as waiting for my answer, which wouldn’t have been no, she takes both my hands in hers and drags me into the crowd. For just a few short minutes, I forget everything about the world around us, everything except her and me and the music.

And we dance.

* * *

The first sign that something has gone terribly wrong is when, on my way home from the Flower Dance late that night, the lights are on in Rasmodius’s tower. It doesn’t occur to me then, however, that it’s a sign at all. For all I know, he could just be doing some late-night reading.

When Abigail and I arrive together at his tower slightly later than usual the next morning, it’s not only immediately obvious that something has gone wrong, but that his door being unlocked and slightly ajar isn’t the first sign. It’s the second.

Far  _ more _ concerning is the fact that his tower is in disarray. There are papers and books scattered all over the floor, many of which are not in one piece. Some are charred around the edges. Rasmodius’s desk, in particular, is a smoking heap of burnt wood.

And Rasmodius himself is nowhere to be seen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I got you all invested in Rasmodius and then just made him go poof. plus side, you get to meet the ✨ actual best character ✨ as a direct result of this! (and by actual best character, I mean you barely get to talk to her ingame but in this story about wizards she might get a bigger role)


	6. Course of Action

Anything from Rasmodius’s tower we could salvage, and that looked useful, has found a new home hidden under the newly-installed kitchen sink in the newly-installed kitchen of Grandfather’s house. Abigail and I had agreed, fairly quickly, that if whoever had gone after Rasmodius was the same person who went after the junimos, they had somehow connected Rasmodius to the junimos and therefore we need to be careful not to let them connect us to Rasmodius  _ or _ the junimos.

So, the new base of operations is the farmhouse, with about three separate early warning charms. For all the good it will do either of us against someone who could take on Rasmodius and win.

“Well,” Abigail says without much optimism, “maybe they  _ didn’t _ take on Rasmodius and win. Maybe Rasmodius won.”

“Then why wouldn’t he  _ be _ there? Why would he let someone ransack his  _ home?” _

Abigail slides down the wall to sit on the floor, and leans her head back to rest against it. She sighs. “Yeah, I didn’t believe me either. But what can we even do about it? File a missing person report?”

“To who?  _ Lewis? _ He’d panic, assure us he was doing everything he could, and then do absolutely nothing about it.”

Despite herself, despite everything, Abigail giggles. “I love that you already know just how good a mayor he is.”

“You can thank Maru for that.”

Abigail gets a thoughtful look on her face. “Do you think—”

“No, we are  _ not _ getting Maru to help. Or any or your friends.”

“Our friends,” Abigail says, and I don’t quite have the energy to deny her that.

“What would any of them even do? The less people that know something is wrong, the less chance there is of it getting back to…” I frown. “We need something better to call them than the fireball-throwing bastard.”

“Just bastard works.”

“Too nonspecific. My old boss was a bastard. Morris is a bastard.”

“Pyromaniac?”

“Well, they  _ do _ really seem to like fire, but…”

“Absolute fucking scum of the earth, because  _ who _ would attack  _ junimos?” _

“Bit too long.”

“Scum for short.”

“I…” Can’t find anything wrong with that one, and I’m honestly too tired to keep trying, so I shrug helplessly. “Sure. They’re scum. But like I said: we can’t risk anyone finding out we’re learning from him. Scum could  _ be _ anyone.”

“Well, anyone with yellow essence,” Abigail points out. “We figured out that much from your junimo friend.”

“And how, exactly, are we supposed to figure out who has yellow essence?”

As if on cue, a portal opens on the countertop next to me: blue, tinged with a much darker indigo. Communicative portal spell, cast by someone with indigo essence. An envelope sails out of it, bopping me lightly in the face. 

“Hey!” I yell through the portal. “Watch where you’re throwing things!”

“Well, I can’t, now, can I? Portal’s not transparent, although not for lack of trying on my part. Anyway, think fast!” I drop the envelope just in time to catch a  _ much  _ heavier box with my hands instead of my face. “Pleasure meeting you girls, though I wish it was under better circumstances. Open the envelope  _ first. _ Stay safe!”

The portal closes. I set down the box on the counter beside me and hop down from it. Abigail opens the envelope with her fingernail and starts reading it.

“Any clue as to what the  _ fuck _ that was?” 

“Yeah.” Her eyes scan the paper for a few more seconds before she passes it over. “Read it yourself, I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.” 

So, slightly perplexed, I do.

> _ Salutations, students of magic! Welwick is my name, but I’ll answer to anything from Wickers to Wonkers to That One Fortuneteller Who Won’t Shut Up. I’m an old friend of Mody’s, and I’m writing you this because he, as per usual, has gotten himself in  _ _ way _ _ over his head and now expects me to help him pick up the mess. _
> 
> _ Granted, if he’s right, I’d be stupid if not downright suicidal  _ _ not _ _ to help him pick up the mess. Late last night, he sent me his notes on what we’ve dubbed the Junimo Situation with instructions to send these to his students through another equally untraceable portal the next day, as well as some supplementary materials. _
> 
> _ He seems confident you can figure out whatever it is on your own. However, it is not like him to leave people to do things alone unless he has no other choice and/or is physically incapable of doing so. I am quite certain that the two of you (there  _ _ are _ _ only two of you, correct?) are capable, but should you need further guidance or merely another spellcaster in your corner, find me in my store in Zuzu City. I’ve enclosed one of my leaflets for directions. _
> 
> _ May the spirits shower you with good fortune in your now and future endeavors, _
> 
> _ Master Archana Welwick _

Abigail, seeing I’ve finished reading, holds out the envelope. I stick the letter back in. She shuts it, and sticks it in one of her many jacket pockets.

“She’s...” I frown. “Interesting?”

“Sure, if that’s how you want to put it.  _ I _ like her,” Abigail says. “Let’s see what’s in that box!”

“Sure, okay.  _ Scindo. _ ” My hand glows violet as I make one cutting motion, then several more, undoing the taped-down flaps. Tempting as it is to just lop off the top entirely, in the end it’s better to avoid damaging the contents.

Inside are two well-worn notebooks, several tightly bound scrolls, and miscellaneous loose papers. Nothing is remotely organized. I’d give it a fifty-fifty shot that Welwick either hadn’t touched it, or had attempted to help and wound up making it worse.

“We’ve got a lot of reading to do,” Abigail observes.

I sigh. “We certainly do.”

* * *

Given that Zuzu City isn’t exactly a short trip, the bus is still a charred husk of metal that even Joja doesn’t care about anymore, and neither of us have access to a vehicle for that long (Abigail) or at all (me), paying Welwick a visit is a last resort. 

Rasmodius definitely thought he was close to finding out something. Maybe he did find it out, and that something is why he just abruptly disappeared. But the next thing on his list, the thing he hadn’t gotten around to doing, was recording the essence colors of everyone in town.

There’s a single torn-out page of a magic textbook folded up there, detailing a spell to determine the color of another’s essence without them using magic or even having it unlocked. The only thing necessary is contact—and that contact can be brief so long as you’re paying attention.

Inside one of Rasmodius’s notebooks, I draw up a table. The names of everyone I can think of in town are listed there, not in any sort of order, with a column beside their names for essence color. I write my own name and Abigail’s at the bottom.

_ AZALEA - RED _

_ ABIGAIL - VIOLET _

And, of course, the  _ far too many _ unfilled rows above them. Beside me, Abigail opens Rasmodius’s other notebook, flips to the first blank page, and starts to copy my table down.

“We’ll be better off dividing and conquering,” she says in a way of explanation. She pauses writing briefly to brush her hair out of her eyes, then continues, “Metaphorically speaking, anyway. Literally speaking… yeah, no. ”

“I know what you mean. I’ll take the first half of the list, everyone up to Morris, you take the second half?”

She shrugs. “Sounds fine to me. Meet back here in an hour?”

That’s going to be cutting it close, but I nod anyway. We’re friends now, sort of, but I’m still not about to be shown up by her.

* * *

Abigail is waiting for me, sitting cross-legged on my bed, when I get back. I don’t spare her a glance, because I can’t. I sprint for the bathroom, just barely making it in time to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet instead of onto the floor I’d just mopped yesterday. Hands gripping the edges of the toilet bowl, I breathe heavily, not even noticing my hair is starting to hang in my face.

Not noticing, that is, until someone else’s hand pulls it back. I thank her by throwing up again, until there’s nothing left  _ to _ throw up and the only thing I can do is dry heave until I’ve recovered.

“Deep breaths,” Abigail says, and I obey without complaint. In, out. In, and out. In and out and in and out and in and out again.

“Thanks,” I mumble so quietly it could be mistaken for anything but actual words. 

“Are you okay?” She asks, despite the fact that I’m obviously not okay.

“Yep,” I reply, also despite the fact that I’m obviously not okay. “Just peachy. Why do you ask?”

I lean against the bathroom wall and close my eyes. I open them when Abigail says, “The contents of your toilet beg to differ.”

She makes eye contact with me. I hold it as I reach out and flush the toilet. “What contents?”

_ “Azalea North.” _

“It’s really nothing to worry about, probably. Felt fine until I walked into Joja Mart, and I’m feeling better already now. Yes, I got Morris, Shane and Sam too since they were still working.”

“Was Morris yellow?”

“No.” My already-present frown deepens. “He didn’t have essence at all. Either a former user of dark magic, much older than he looks, or someone  _ else _ close to him was a former user of dark magic and used his essence up permanently instead of theirs.”

“That last one is  _ really _ a dick move.” Abigail whistles. “God _ damn. _ How fucked would it be if you were on a one night stand with someone and they just… stole your magic energy. And you didn’t even know it.”

“Abigail  _ Piers _ .”

“Not that it changes my opinion of him in the slightest. Dude’s an asshole  _ and _ he’s been trying to run Dad out of business for three years. I couldn’t have cared less about who Joja were before then, but now?”

I think about it for a moment, then nod. “Three years ago, I would have been the same way. Anyway… notes. Need to exchange them.”

“Yep. Maybe we should leave the bathroom, though.”

Laughing nervously, I get up. “Yeah… maybe we should. So: Sam’s red, Shane is yellow but we don’t honestly think it’s him, do we?”

“Can’t rule it out entirely,” Abigail says as we walk, meandering to take positions on my bed again, “but also, no, no we don’t.”

I open my notebook. “Okay, from the top: Alex, orange. Haley’s blue, Emily’s yellow. Sebastian, indigo. Maru’s red, Demetrius is orange, Robin’s red. Pam, also red and honestly I’m pretty sure she’s a hedge mage even if she isn’t entirely aware of that fact. Penny’s red too, that could be fuel for the theory that essence colors are inherited actually. Vincent and Jas both have green, Marnie has yellow, Lewis has green…”

“Right, my turn. Elliot’s violet, George is yellow, Evelyn is green, Willy is indigo, Gus is green, Clint is orange, Gunther is orange and also I’m pretty sure he  _ is _ a trained wizard. Mom’s yellow, Dad’s blue, Harvey’s yellow, Leah’s purple, Gil—”

“Yeah, who  _ is _ Gil? That’s part of why I took the top half of the list. Never actually met him.”

Abigail shrugs. “He lives with Marlon. They run something called the Adventurer’s Guild? Which sounds super cool, actually, but I’ve been pretty busy lately. Anyway, Gil and Marlon both have violet essence. Jodi’s got blue,  _ Linus _ of all people has yellow… did we forget anyone?”

I survey my now filled-out chart. “Nope. So that means our suspects are…”

“Shane, Emily, Marnie, George, Mom, Harvey, and Linus. Maybe Morris, since we don’t know what color his essence was.” She lets out a long-suffering sigh, sets her notebook on her lap, and leans back. Her head hits my bed with a soft  _ thwomp. _ “Well, tailing Mom will be pretty easy, at least? She’ll be thrilled I want to spend more time with her, and she’s got no idea I know Rasmodius. Also, I really doubt it’s her, but…”

“I want to doubt it’s her, too, but…”

“But…  _ what? _ You don’t… you can’t think it’s my  _ mom.” _

“She was talking to Rasmodius at the Flower Dance, right before you found me. It looked like they knew each other.”

“And that was the last time either of us saw him.” Abigail gulps uncomfortably. “I’ll handle her. There’s got to be some reasonable explanation for that. Maybe they’re friends or something.”

“If it turns out it’s her, promise me something.” I take her hand in both of mine, and look her in those beautiful eyes. “Don’t confront her alone.  _ Please. _ ”

“As long as you don’t either.”

I nod. “Please. I’m not that stupid.”

“No?”

I roll my eyes and say,  _ “Dis.” _ A convenient gust of wind shoves her off the bed. I pretend not to laugh. Judging by the indignant screech I get from Abigail, I don’t do a very good job of pretending.

* * *

The people I have to shadow: Shane and Marnie (because they live together), Linus (because he’s not much farther from Grandfather’s farm than Marnie’s ranch is, just in the opposite direction), and Morris (because despite the fact that I have expressed nothing but anger and multiple curse words in his general direction, I’d still be less suspicious than the daughter of his competition.)

The people Abigail has to shadow: Emily (because they were friends in middle school), George (because he lives right down the road from her), Harvey (his office-slash-house is right next-door), and Caroline (because she literally lives with her and also that’s her mom.)

Out of all the options I’ve got, Morris is by far the most suspicious, but also I don’t particularly  _ want _ to deal with him first. So, while Abigail goes to befriend—or  _ re _ friend—Emily, I start spending a lot of time near Linus’s tent up on the mountain.

Linus’s permanent campsite, of course, is in the woods behind the Woods home. Robin has mentioned a couple of times that he doesn’t bother them, so she doesn’t care too much what he’s up to—although she would prefer he had a sturdier shelter than a tent for the summer storms coming. 

There’s only so long I can pretend to be waiting on Robin about farm upgrades or foraging in the bushes for various berries and roots, so on the second day of summer, I bring a fishing rod, because Linus isn’t exactly the most mobile of individuals when he isn’t out looking for food. I’ve only seen him in town once, and while I guess he  _ could _ have been rummaging through trash cans as a cover for what he’d done to the junimos, I… doubt it.

But  _ doubt _ isn’t enough. Hence the fishing rod and enough bait to feed a small ocean’s worth of fish. Casting my line into the lake and closing my eyes, I whisper,  _ “Observo.” _

Behind my eyelids, I see first red essence, then indigo. I think about Linus in his tent, and the observation spell calls an image of him up. He’s humming to himself. As I watch, he chops up a brown mushroom and scrapes the pieces off his cutting board into a dented pan to join many,  _ many _ other mushroom pieces there. The brown mushroom cut up, he retrieves a morel from his bag and starts chopping that up, too.

Something tugs on the line in my hands. I drop the spell, open my eyes, and tug right back. It only occurs to me once I’ve landed the fish that I didn’t put any thought into how I was going to  _ transport _ said fish.

I return after an hour with a cooler. It’s a bit too late to keep the first carp fresh, but the second and third go well enough, and the comparatively low essence cost of watching Linus from nearby—as opposed to from the farmhouse—means I could keep using the spell all day.

Fishing all day, however, is another thing entirely, particularly when carp are the  _ only _ easy fish to catch. Sturgeon in particular are  _ terrible, _ and I’d bet money that every fish I lose against today is a sturgeon.

But I come back the next day, and keep trying. I’ve still got  _ some _ crops planted, but not all that many. I don’t want to waste too much time watering them when I need to keep an eye on our local tent-dweller.

It becomes increasingly clear, the more time I spend around Linus, that he really is just living life to the fullest, wizard or not. Does he have a house? No. Does he  _ want _ a house? No. He just lives off the land, gathering mushrooms and berries and roots and occasionally catching fish himself as a treat.

* * *

It’s a witheringly hot day near the middle of summer. I’ve been shadowing Linus for weeks now. The town is abuzz because of some event in a few days—I’ve heard the word  _ luau _ thrown around, as well as  _ potluck _ and  _ governor _ , and none of those things are something I’d like to be involved in on a good day. On a bad day? I  _ think _ I’ll stick to things like farming and fishing where no one will bother me.

Except, today, someone does. 

“Nice catch,” Linus observes. “That’s a big one.”

I nearly drop the fish. Fortunately, when I do drop it, it’s into the cooler. “Um… thanks?”

The local hermit peers into the cooler and nods to himself. “Rainbow trout. Not easy to find  _ or _ catch, these days.”

“Gay trout,” I say before I can stop myself.

“The  _ gayest _ trout.” Linus chuckles to himself. “Do you mind if I…” He gestures vaguely to the lake, and the old fishing rod I’ve only just now realized he’s holding. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Don’t mind at all. You live closer to here than I do.”

He nods, and casts his line. After a few moments, I do the same. For several casts of mine, we sit in companionable silence.

Do I  _ really _ think  _ Linus _ is our scummy, scummy culprit? Is he even a wizard? If he  _ is _ a wizard, he hides it very well. I haven’t seen a hint of magic use, and I have  _ been _ watching. For  _ weeks. _

From what I’ve heard from Abigail, she’s had similar luck (or lack thereof) with Emily. Although Emily is definitely a wizard, and is definitely no less weird than she was in middle school, she’s also a self-proclaimed pacifist to the point where she cries if she steps on a cockroach.

So Abigail’s moved on to Harvey for now. The local doctor is quiet but passionate about keeping people well—something I can respect. When I told Abigail as much, she started laughing and told me to never look up what medical school is.

Well, I  _ did _ and I don’t quite get why, but dealing with Harvey is Abigail’s problem, not mine. Next on my list is either Shane or Marnie because the absolute last person I want to deal with anytime soon is Morris.

That being said: I can still come up here to fish, sometimes. I’ve grown to like fishing, even if I’m not very fast—or  _ good _ —at it. And Linus isn’t bad company.

“I said I’d be quiet,” Linus says at last, “and I will be after this, I promise. But… um… why the sudden interest in fishing?”

I shrug. “Felt like trying something new, for a change. I don’t hate farming, not as much as I thought I would, but… hey, I thought fishing could be cool. You know?”

Linus nods as if to say  _ yes, I certainly do. _ “Finding a direction you are happy with is vastly more difficult than the world makes it seem. Particularly because others  _ will _ force their directions on you with no concern for your well-being. I…” Suddenly much less emphatic, he lowers his head. “I live how I live by choice. It is a hard life, but it is a good one, and a worthwhile one. I wish more people understood that.”

“Well, it’s  _ your _ business,” I say firmly. “It’s  _ your _ life. Why should others have any say in it?”

“Because the world I live in is run by others,” Linus says sadly. “And you’re far more likely to run into others that look down on you than others that look up to you.”

I stare out across the water and mumble an agreement. 

“I’ve been luckier than most,” he continues. “Robin doesn’t care what I do so long as I don’t mind her early woodcutting. Pelican Town is… nice. Welcoming, even if you don’t really  _ live _ here. I haven’t had my tent knocked down once since I came here, and I’ve been here for…” Linus starts to count on his fingers, then shrugs and goes with, “A while.”

“People have knocked down your  _ tent? _ Why would they…” I wince. “Actually, never mind, people can be horrible.”

“Particularly when someone they see as beneath them is concerned,” Linus agrees. “I’ve been meaning to ask, are you—”

His line, finally, gets a bite. Linus’s eyes go wide. He stands up, lets out a whoop, and  _ pulls. _ But he doesn’t pull like he’s pulling to win, strangely enough. He pulls hard, then lets his line slacken, and then tugs even harder. I’d almost say he’s in a dance with the fish, but that can’t… be right.

And yet, when the fish emerges from the water (it’s a  _ big fucking sturgeon _ ), Linus looks it in the eye and gives it a nod of respect.

“You fought hard, my friend,” Linus tells the fish. “I will remember you as the warrior you were, and the delicious meal you will become. Die well.”

With the quick slice of a knife, the sturgeon stops struggling. Linus lowers his head in a moment of silent reverence, before apparently remembering I’m here. He quickly says, “Sorry, I can move—”

“You’re fine,” I reply. “I’m about out of energy for fishing today anyway. Mind if I watch?”

“Not at all?” Linus sounds slightly bewildered that I’d want to watch him carve up a fish, but he still gets right to work. The fish is nearly prepared, all wrapped up in strips of cloth and ready for transport, when I hear it. We  _ both _ hear it:

**B O O M .**

“What was that?” I ask, even as I’m looking around to see what happened.

“I don’t…” Linus spots it first. He gasps, horrified. “My  _ tent!” _

Up on the ridge, a plume of smoke billows up from his campsite. It’s too big to be just from his campfire. 

Who would  _ do _ this?

Well, I can think of one person who would. And if I’m right, that just crossed Linus off our list. But why did it have to happen like this? Why would they set his  _ tent _ on  _ fire? _ What did he ever do to them?

I clench my fists, then shout, “Come on,” and  _ run. _ I hear Linus’s footsteps behind me, but I don’t dare turn to look at him.

When we get there, Linus’s tent is on fire—and someone in a dark cloak is running into the woods. My hands start to glow red, but before I can cast a spell, I stop in my tracks.

I can’t let them know I’m a wizard. I can’t confront them now. I promised Abigail I wouldn’t do this without her, so I don’t chase them into the woods. I don’t shoot a fireball to burn them to a crisp or a gust of wind to sweep them off their feet. Instead, I shout a string of obscenities after them vulgar enough to make my stepmother blush, or perhaps even my old master. Perhaps I’d rather be shouting them at my old master.

“I… appreciate the sentiment,” Linus says from behind me, “but they’re gone.”

My shoulders slump. “I know.”

“Was the reference to cactus needles and private parts really necessary?”

“Very,” I tell him, turning around. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. And also…”

That’s when I realize that the burning tent I’d completely neglected to help with is already out. It’s a slightly dirtier yellow than it was, but otherwise no worse for wear. It was on  _ fire. _ But the inside appears to be fine, the tent itself is structurally fine, what the fuck?

“What the fuck,” I repeat, out loud this time. “What is that tent  _ made of?” _

“Some kind of waterproof cloth? It’s a regular, storebought tent. I didn’t yet have the know-how to make my own, and by the time I did, I’d grown rather attached to it.”

“You say it’s a regular tent, but correct me if I’m wrong, regular tents aren’t  _ fireproof. _ Or m…” I trail off into a faked cough. “Seriously, that tent must be the strongest to ever come off the assembly lines.”

“Oh, it isn’t. There’s nothing special at all about the tent.” 

Linus smiles. He strides over to the tent and places a single hand on it. He mumbles something inaudible under his breath. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the tent is a brighter yellow. It must just be reflecting the light… or…

_ Or. _ Linus actually  _ is… _

“I meant to ask you before that…” Linus looks remarkably like he wants to stab someone and that someone just ran away from here in a dark, hooded cloak. “I meant to ask you before. Have you heard of the tragic tale of Icarus?”

...a wizard. A  _ trained _ one, at that. There are many coded phrases and responses in use in this world, meant to allow members of specific organizations to identify others. There is the tragic tale of Icarus, for instance—who  _ did _ actually exist, but did a lot more than just fly too close to the sun—and of course, the omnipresent, inescapable ‘I like your shoelaces.’

“I have,” I say faintly. “Insensitive Icarus called tornadoes coming close endlessly, wasn’t it?”

Linus bows slightly. He holds a hand up. It glows, faintly, yellow, and he says, after a moment’s hesitation, “Master Linus Gray, although I can’t say I ever cared for formalities.”

“Me either,” I say. You know, like a liar. “Journeyman Azalea North. I did  _ not _ realize you were a wizard.”

He eyes me, head cocked to one side slightly. It occurs to me, suddenly, that a  _ lot _ of the nervousness has evaporated into thin air. “That’s a lie too. Why are you investigating me?”

“Because…” I look around nervously, then set a proximity charm. Just to be safe. Once that’s settled, I say, “Because someone attacked the junimos in the old Community Center—”

“What?”

“—made Master Rasmodius disappear from his tower entirely—”

_ “What?” _

“—and I’m almost certain this is the same wizard who just tried to ruin your tent.” I pause briefly. “Is that why you’ve got magical protections on it? Because people knocked it down before?”

“Oh, no, they protect against  _ magic. _ Not teenage hooligans who think it’s funny to pull out my tent stakes in the middle of a windstorm.”

I don’t say I’m sorry.

“Don’t be sorry,” he continues without waiting for me to say anything. “All teenagers are fools. Some find worse outlets for their foolishness than others.”

“Did you just  _ read my mind?” _

Linus snorts. “Please. I know better than to dabble in dark magic.”

“Then how did you—”

“I didn’t read your mind. I read your  _ face. _ No magic necessary for that.”

“Right.” Lacking anything better to do, I sit down next to the remnants of his campfire. “So you’re definitely a wizard. Our only lead on who they were was that they had yellow essence.”

“Hm.” Linus considers this. “Well, I’m afraid the only thing I can offer is that whoever they are, they have a serious grudge against me. Either they’re very good at hiding it, or they’re that Morris fellow.”

“Morris doesn’t have essence.”

“That doesn’t exactly rule him out. You’re a journeyman, you should know—”

“I  _ know _ you can use essence that’s not your own for spells,” I say. “So that does kind of rule him out, but he’s definitely up to  _ something _ magic or no magic. Also just an asshole.”

“He most certainly is,” Linus mutters. “He most  _ certainly _ is.”

* * *

Abigail’s waiting for me when I get home, leaning against the exterior wall of the farmhouse. Her eyes are closed and she’s snoring softly. I tap her on the shoulder.

She jolts awake. “Hwha? Oh, hi Azalea. So it’s  _ definitely _ not Emily. Took me all afternoon to convince her to leave me alone and that no, I didn’t need help finding the individual who ‘threw the psychic balance of the valley out of whack.’ Didn’t even get to see Harvey today.”

“It’s not Linus either,” I say. “But he’s definitely a wizard.”

_ “Linus _ is a wizard?”

“Damn powerful one at that, but not the one we’re looking for. The one we’re looking for tried to burn down his tent and ran.”

Abigail blinks. “Am I still asleep? Pinch me.”

“Kinky,” I say, but oblige. 

My friend hisses a curse and rubs her arm. “First of all, I didn’t mean  _ that _ hard.”

“You didn’t  _ say _ how hard, in my defense.”

“Whatever.” She pushes herself up off the wall and yawns. “You know what’s tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? I… was thinking I’d go try to make friends with Marnie.”

“Well, do that at the Luau. She’ll be there, everyone in  _ town _ will be there, and you  _ need _ to be there too. At least for part of the day. But really, it would be a great opportunity to—”

“Sure.”

“—talk with Marnie, maybe you could tell her you’re interested in raising chickens or something…” It clicks that I’ve already agreed. “Wait. What?”

“I’ll go,” I say. “At least for a little while. Is there free food?”

“There’s the communal soup. Everyone in town contributes something to it, the local governor tastes it, and if he’s pleased, Lewis hands out tax breaks like candy. But also, the soup is always good, except for that one year Sam… well, he’s not going to do it again.”

“Do I  _ want _ to know what he did?”

“Ask him if you want. Just don’t give him any ideas until  _ after _ the soup is ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like you all to know that I love Welwick now. she'll actually show up in person at some point just because she unintentionally became sUCH A COOL CHARACTER???
> 
> also yeehaw there is more magic use in Stardew Valley than these two realize. I doubt most of them would call it magic though. Marnie probably just calls it being nice to animals.


	7. Sidetracked Summer

The Luau soup is excellent. It also tastes distinctly of fish, but the important thing is that the fish I contributed was high-quality and fresh so  _ no one _ can get mad at me for it. Although, in retrospect, I really couldn’t have done any worse than Sam unless I was  _ really _ trying to.

And I wasn’t trying to. I’m still not trying to, because I’ve got a job to do and that job is making friends with the woman whose rooster wakes me up at six in the morning like clockwork _. _ It’s perhaps, slightly, easier said than done.

Fortunately, Marnie is one of those people who seems completely incapable of taking things the wrong way. Definitely for the best given how much I hate that rooster.

“Oh, Terrorbeak means no harm,” Marnie sips her soup delicately. After seeing my visible confusion, she adds, “Despite the name, he really  _ is _ a sweetheart.”

“Uh-huh,” I say dubiously.  _ “Terrorbeak?” _

“I got the poor dear from an old farmer further west some years ago. He wanted to downsize, settle down with his husband and just a few chickens. Terrorbeak was low on the pecking order and rather mean to his farmers in general, and I could never say no to an animal in need. He’s thrived here. I’m glad.”

“And they named him Terrorbeak.”

“Oh no, they called him… Thanatos?” She mispronounces the name, unsurprisingly—even some wizards do. “I settled on something I could pronounce, something at least similar-sounding, and something that would, hopefully, later prove to be ironic.”

“Very ironic. Uh…” I sigh, and resign myself to my fate for the rest of the festival. “You’ve got more chickens than just Terrorbeak, right?”

“Oh,  _ yes. _ Shane’s a dear and helps with them, when he’s not…” She clears her throat and hides the hurt in her eyes with a winning smile. “There’s Winona, and Emmaline, and Emma Jean, and Carrie Ann, and Lillian and Rhiannon and Barbara and Tirora, and of course, how could I forget everyone else!”

I am  _ definitely _ going to be here for a while. I risk a glance away from Marnie. She doesn’t notice.

Across the beach, Abigail is chatting up Harvey and Maru, pretending to be far more interested in the medical field than she actually is. Maybe she can pass it off as a school project or something. 

* * *

If I spent the first half of the summer shadowing Linus, I definitely spend the second half of it shadowing Marnie (and to a limited extent, Shane.) Although a better word for it might not be  _ shadowing _ so much as  _ listening to Marnie infodump about every type of farm animal under the sun. _ It becomes increasingly clear, the more time I spent with her, that she’s not only not a wizard but she’s  _ never alone. _ The translation spell I used for the junimo works slightly easier on her chickens and cows, and they only confirm what I already suspected: whenever Marnie isn’t with another person, she’s with another animal. Or asleep. Sometimes not alone.

Rather  _ often _ not sleeping alone, actually, and while even  _ I _ was aware that something was going on between Marnie and our local mediocre mayor, her animals are apparently just as aware of it (and much more tired of it, because they have to deal with her shenanigans on a daily basis.) Emma Jean the white-feathered hen tells me about the several separate occasions Lewis has attempted to crawl out the window and fallen out on his behind. Rebecca the dairy cow, apparently, gets all the juicy gossip when she’s being milked, because apparently first thing in the morning is the best time to go on about your rather ridiculous romantic problems.

Honestly, though. When I bring it up with Abigail, neither of them are married, and  _ everyone in town  _ knows that they’re fucking. Neither of them are as discreet as they think they are, and there is literally no reason that they  _ need _ to keep it a secret, either. The only reason no one has up and asked them about it is out of respect for their privacy.

But dear  _ Yoba _ is it painful to watch. Particularly when Lewis hears that you’ve been spending a lot of time at his girlfriend’s place and asks you to find and return his ‘lucky purple shorts’ to him. Discreetly. 

They’re literally  _ on the middle of the floor in Marnie’s bedroom _ and he’s very lucky indeed that the Luau already occurred, otherwise I might have followed Sam’s example out of sheer frustration.

Midsummer becomes late summer. I’m informed a week early, in no uncertain terms, that if I don’t come to the beach on the last day of summer on my own, Abigail will personally drag me there. It will, according to her, be very much worth it.

* * *

Three days until the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies. I wake up to the manic crows of Terrorbeak the rooster as per usual, and set about getting ready for the day like normal. I’ve only just finished brushing my teeth when a knock comes on the door.

Probably Abigail. I throw on my cleanest shirt and shorts, run a brush through my hair a couple times, and make sure I look at least somewhat presentable before I open the door.

The woman standing there is  _ not _ Abigail. It’s Marnie. And she has a dog with her, a big, brown, pointy-eared slobbering one sitting there with the canine equivalent of elevator music playing in its head. When people say  _ no thoughts, head empty, _ they’re referring to this dog.

“Uh… morning, Marnie.” I try not to sound too disappointed. “Didn’t know you had a dog.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Marnie replies. “Well, unless I can’t find someone else to take him, but even then... maybe if Shane helps out more. The shelter said they were going to have to put him down if no one took him, and I vowed I’d find  _ someone _ and if not I’d take him myself. I’m afraid I’m not a dog person, and I don’t think the chickens would like him very much, but  _ someone _ in town has to like him.”

“I’m a cat person,” I tell her, but I kneel down and hold out my hand for the dog to sniff anyway. He does so, experimentally at first. Having apparently deemed me friendly, he licks my hand, and without any further warning, leaps into my chest and starts licking my face.

“Merlin,  _ no,” _ Marnie tells him, pulling the leash back slightly. The dog whines but backs up. “He’s at least house-trained. Loves food, you can train him to do nearly anything if you give him treats for it. Comes with a name but you can change it—”

“Wait, wait, hold on.” I look at the dog more closely. “Did you say his name’s  _ Merlin?” _

“After that weird old wizard in the legend, yes! That’s honestly one of the more normal names they’ve given their animals. They can’t reuse them, so the animal that got adopted right before Merlin was a fluffy yellow cat named… I think it was Almalexia?”

“Weird name,” I agree.

But I’m actually thinking on this now. Contrary to popular belief, Merlin  _ did _ actually exist. Merlin Kingsbane was the founder and first Grandmaster Supreme of the Council. The current one, Emeric Gray of the Gotoro Empire, is the… sixteenth? Seventeenth? Something like that.

And with a name like Merlin…

I’m not familiar with the process of converting a pet into a familiar. But I suppose I wouldn’t necessarily  _ need _ to be familiar with… well, familiars. Maybe Rasmodius left notes on the process somewhere. And if he didn’t, animals have essence too. That alone could make the difference between things as serious as life and death.

I approach Merlin-the-dog a little closer, and scratch him behind the ears. He thumps his tail on the ground in obvious delight as I whisper,  _ “Invenio vis.” _

The spell works for people, and there’s no reason it shouldn’t work to detect the essence of animals too. I close my eyes. Behind them flashes my own red essence, and then… yellow.

That’s ironic, to say the least. History didn’t record what color essence the original Merlin had, but that doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that  _ this _ Merlin has the same essence as our local scum of the earth pyromancer.

We  _ really _ need a better name for them. Scum is too generic too. Maybe Yellow, after their essence? I’ll bring it up with Abigail when she  _ does _ get here. But before that?

“I’ll take him,” I tell Marnie. Wait. Better not sound too excited, so I add, “if no one else wants him.”

“Oh, I would  _ love _ to have him, but even I know my limits when it comes to animals. A couple extra hens is nothing. A dog? Bit harder. I asked all around town yesterday.” Marnie bites her lip. “You’re his only hope.”

Merlin looks up at me with eyes that know too much, somehow, and yet know absolutely nothing.

“I’ll take him, then,” I repeat. “If he’s house-trained at least, I can probably figure out the rest.”

Marnie sighs in visible relief. “Oh, thank  _ Yoba. _ I was thinking I’d have to go all the way to Zuzu to find him a good home. Listen, Shane, my nephew, you’ve met him? He used to train dogs, he can help you out.”

“Wait, really?”

“Well… he used to  _ have _ a dog, that  _ was _ trained. No one in our family isn’t good with animals, in their own way. I do have a cousin in the desert who  _ loves _ her some snakes and geckos. Rogue really is such a dear, don’t let the name fool you, she wouldn’t hurt a fly unless it was to feed to her babies.”

“...okay, ignoring everything about your cousin. Does Shane actually know how to train dogs?”

“Quite honestly, no,” Marnie admits. She fidgets with the end of Merlin’s leash anxiously. “But I’m going to tell him I told you he could, because I’m worried about him, he needs some kind of direction. Or maybe just a distraction! He’s good with animals, we all are, I’m  _ sure _ he can figure it out, if you just give him a chance, and—”

“What exactly are you asking me to do?”

The older woman takes a deep breath and says, “To be his friend, because he  _ needs one _ and at this point he’s pushed away everyone else who  _ could _ be one.”

“I…”

I  _ really _ should say no, because I’m really,  _ really _ not a friendly person. I know Shane has issues, but even if they aren’t as bad as Marnie thinks, I would  _ probably _ just make them worse.

But on the other hand, I really,  _ really _ should say yes, because this would be a perfect opportunity to investigate Shane for suspicious magical activity. He could  _ easily _ be Yellow. He’s got yellow essence.

But on the  _ other _ other hand, I really, really,  _ really _ should say no because I can’t really think  _ Shane _ is our culprit when everyone knows he spends his nights drinking his life away in the Saloon, same as Penny’s mom, and I really only would be making things worse.

But what if I didn’t? Is that even a possibility? Maybe it would help him, but do I want to be responsible for any of that?”

“I’ll try,” I say, because apparently Stardew Valley has made me soft. “But I make no promises.”

“Oh,  _ thank you!” _ Without any kind of warning, Marnie hugs me so tightly I can barely breathe. When she lets go, I have Merlin’s leash in my hand. “Now, if you need any help with Merlin,  _ or _ Shane, you come get me. Y’hear? Pierre sells dog food, and he’ll be glad to hear that he’s got another customer for it. Your grandfather used to have a dog, I’m sure there’s some dishes somewhere in his things and if there’s not, I have some extras laying around somewhere. And if you need—”

“Thank  _ you,” _ I say, “but I do need to get to work. Crops to water and all that.”

“Oh! Of course, sorry to bother you, dear. Gods keep you safe!”

She turns with a wave, cutting across the barren parts of my farm to the trail leading to hers. I realize, staring after her, that I didn’t even bring  _ up _ Terrorbeak.

Merlin strains against the leash I’m holding. He lets out a low, mournful howl. I kneel beside him, and give him a scratch behind the ears.

“We’ll go visit her tomorrow,” I say, then consider this. “Possibly even today. We’ll see how the wheat-planting goes. Did you know that wheat can be grown in both summer  _ and _ fall? I sure didn’t.”

Merlin boofs with absolutely no understanding whatsoever.

“I did,” Abigail says. She looks at me, then the dog, then the leash I’m holding that’s attached to the dog. “Oh, Marnie got to you?”

“What do you mean,  _ got to me? _ I’m almost certain she’s  _ not _ —”

“Hang on.” A faint violet glow comes from one of her jacket pockets, not coincidentally the one she has a hand stuck into.  _ “Monitum circulo.” _

I squint at the perimeter that’s formed, then nod in approval. “You’re getting better.”

“So are you. Anyway: Marnie can and  _ will _ guilt anyone who’s willing into taking animals that wouldn’t find homes at all otherwise. That’s how I got my guinea pig.”

“You have a guinea pig?”

“His name’s David. I fully regret giving my dear old dad naming rights in exchange for letting me get him. Would have preferred a cat or a dog or something.”

“And Marnie made you get… a guinea pig.”

Abigail shrugs. “Dad’s allergic to pretty much everything. Guinea pigs are the one animal that don’t make him break out into hives or a sneezing fit. Rasmodius was going to teach me how to make him into a familiar before… well…”

“He disappeared,” I say for her. “He never offered me that.”

“Well, you didn’t have a dog then, did you?”

She’s right, I didn’t. But I still can’t help but feel a little annoyed that an apprentice, even one as amazing as Abigail, was hearing things about familiars when I never have.

I squelch that feeling down where it belongs.

* * *

Two days until the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies, and the official end of summer. Marnie sent Jas by before school to give me a note that said, in no uncertain terms, to give her a day to work on Shane before coming over. And also to let Jas pet the dog.

I had absolutely no problems with letting Jas pet the dog, or walking her over to meet up with her friend Vincent and… babysitter? Tutor? Penny. That was all fine, except now I had a day clear with absolutely nothing to do.

The keyword there, of course, is  _ had. _

Somehow I’ve been dragged into playing a video game, with Abigail, in her room, instead of doing anything actually productive. There are a million other things I should be doing right now, and I am doing none of them. I  _ should _ just make an excuse to leave.

I do not. Instead, I watch Abigail play on her own silently until she quits out to the main menu, turns to me, and asks, “Think you’ve got it?”

“Maybe,” I say dubiously. “Still not sure what game this is.”

“What game do you  _ think _ this is?”

She passes me a controller. I eye it dubiously, but try to copy the way she’s holding hers. “The title screen  _ said _ that it was  _ Journey of the Prairie King, _ but…”

“But?”

“That’s that game that Sam can’t beat on the arcade machine in the back of the saloon.”

“You’re right.”

“But this isn’t an arcade machine.” I squint at the screen. “If it is, it’s a  _ really _ strangely shaped one. And it isn’t constantly needling you for quarters to keep playing. And I didn’t think the one in the saloon lets two people play.”

Abigail laughs. “Nope. This is the console version. Significantly easier than the arcade version, less levels too, and you can make your own levels and put them into the game. Also, up to four players, but I don’t have four controllers. Just the two. Anyway: you know how to play?”

“Yes,” I lie. “Let’s get to it.”

She eyes me skeptically. Before she hits the button to start the round, she says, “Arrows to move, blue button to shoot, red button to use powerups. Three lives, you get hit you lose a life but as long as one of us makes it to the end of the round, the other one gets revived with one life.”

“I said I knew by now.”

“And you’re not as good a liar as you think you are.” Abigail hits play. “This is the tutorial level, good place to start. Once you’ve got the hang of—”

My character explodes onscreen, and respawns in the middle, flickering.

“...we’ll get there later,” Abigail decides. “I’ll shoot, you just focus on not getting hit by the bullets. Alright?”

I only nod, furrowing my brow in concentration, and focusing. Video games have never been my strong suit, but I’ve got decent real-world reflexes. They  _ should _ translate to decent in-game reflexes.

Do they? Eventually,  _ maybe. _ Once Abigail is satisfied that I can avoid getting myself killed, even if she’s still doing most of the killing, she moves on to some custom levels. There’s a level where we each only have one life and have to avoid getting hit for as long as possible, a level where we can duel each other and each other alone, a level where we each have to shoot the enemies approaching the other player and if one player dies, the other soon follows.

It’s more fun than I expected. So much fun, in fact, that I don’t realize how long I’ve been at it until Caroline knocks on Abigail’s door to say, “Dinner’s on the table, hun!”

“Wait,  _ dinner?” _ Abigail calls out, looking just as bewildered as I do. “What time is it?”

The door opens. “Yes,  _ dinner, _ it  _ is _ nearly eight, and—” Caroline stares at me. I stare at her right back. “Oh. Hello, Azalea.”

“Hello, Mrs. Piers,” I say weakly. “I’ll get going. Didn’t realize how late it was.”

“Oh, nonsense. You simply must stay for dinner, I made enough for leftovers even with an extra place at the table, and I know I for one am  _ very _ curious to know what you’ve been doing in Abby’s room all this time!”

I look at Abigail. She mouths one word:  _ RUN. _

“We’ve been playing video games,” I say quite honestly. Everything else that comes out of my mouth is much less so. “It’s… you said it’s nearly  _ eight? _ Shit, I need to get home. I didn’t feed the chickens this morning because I was really, really rushed. I need to feed my poor feather babies!”

“...right,” Caroline says after a moment. “Well, Abby, don’t take too long.”

Abigail rolls her eyes. “Yeah, go away, Mom, I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Caroline waves, turns, and leaves the door open as she goes.

“So she thinks we’re fucking,” Abigail says, and I somehow manage to choke on thin air.

_ “What?” _

“Yeah, exactly, I wouldn’t fuck me either.”

“No, that’s not what I meant, I…” I decide to shut up about that. “I’d better get going.”

“Yeah. She is  _ going _ to interrogate me in front of Dad and it’ll be much, much easier to deal with if only one of us gets interrogated. Now get out of here.”

I nod. “See you tomorrow…  _ Abby?” _

_ “Please _ don’t call me that.”

I nod again, this time more emphatically. “See you tomorrow, Abigail.” On the way out, I nearly trip over a bright red mug with lettering too faded to read if I wanted to.

* * *

“How bad was it?” I ask her while watering my crops early the next morning.

Abigail’s exhausted groan tells me all I need to know. “If I hide out here a lot in the near future, you know why.”

I decide not to mention that we  _ do _ need her to suck up to her mother sooner or later. She knows that just as well as I do, and besides, she’s still got George to deal with. Harvey, at least, is probably in the clear by now. If he’s anything at all, he’s a hedge mage, unintentionally boosting his patients’ essence with his own. Somehow.

* * *

One day until the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies. Some of Rasmodius’s papers have notes on them, referring to them more commonly as lunaloos.  _ Those, _ I  _ have _ heard of. They’re aquatic spirits that take on the form of jellyfish, cleaning up pollution and occasionally inspiring tales about monsters from the deep dragging humans down to their untimely deaths by drowning..

Somehow, I get the feeling the villagers of Pelican Town would be a lot less excited to watch the lunaloo migration if they knew about that little detail. Most of them, anyway. Abigail would only be  _ more _ interested, probably Sebastian too, and Sam would come to support his friends. Emily would come simply because she’s Emily. Linus… well, he’s a master wizard, he must already know about lunaloos, and they  _ are _ genuinely fascinating to watch.

Lunaloos are perhaps one of the best known examples of the magical world interacting with the mundane—not that scientists, of course, have any idea of that. They’re who coined the name Moonlight Jelly, and who stubbornly attempt to fit magical lifeforms into mundane boxes no matter how futile it is.

I’ll just avoid Maru’s father tomorrow. I have faith in Maru at least to not be ridiculous about it, but if she is…

Maybe I  _ shouldn’t _ have agreed to go, but I made a promise. I keep my promises. No matter who they’re made to. Hence why I’m waiting with Merlin and Jas outside Marnie’s home for Shane to get his shit at least somewhat together and pretend to train my dog.

“Who’s a good boy, Merlin?” Jas coos, cupping her hands around the dog’s face and leaning in. Merlin licks her. She laughs. “It’s  _ you! _ You’re the good boy!”

“He is a  _ very _ good boy,” I agree. Even if he doesn’t really listen… at  _ all… _ when he’s off the leash. He at least knows to scratch at the door when he needs to take a dump instead of just going somewhere inside quietly.

He  _ is _ a good boy, mostly. Probably ninety percent of the time. But hey, ninety percent  _ is _ still an A. Not just passing, but passing  _ well. _

Jas scratches him behind the ears. “Of course he is. All dogs are good boys, except for the ones that are good girls.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” I eye the still-closed door anxiously. “What do you think they’re doing in there?”

“Shane is sad and Aunt Marnie is trying to help him be less sad,” Jas says matter-of-factly. She rests her chin atop Merlin’s head and mumbles something inaudible.

“What was that?”

“She usually isn’t very good at it,” Jas repeats. “He’s sad. He drinks that icky juice and acts all funny and then he’s even sadder. Or… sorry. More sad. Miss Penny would want me to use proper grammar.”

“That’s… kind of why I’m here,” I admit. “Your Aunt Marnie wanted him to help train Merlin.”

Upon hearing his name, the dog in question boofs happily.

“He doesn’t know how to train a dog.”

“I know.”

That seems to catch her off-guard. “Oh,” she says, and then, “be nice to him. He’s already sad.”

I sigh. “I know,” I say again, right before the door opens. A scraggly looking man who smells of beer—if no moreso than usual—steps out.

“Hi Shane!” Jas cheers.

He looks at her blearily. Okay,  _ definitely _ hungover. Lovely. “You shouldn’t be happy to see me.”

“Well, I  _ am.” _ Jas blows him a raspberry. Then she frowns. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stuck my tongue out at you. Miss Penny says that’s rude.”

“Oh, it is,” I say, “but it wasn’t  _ entirely _ misplaced.”

“It wasn’t misplaced at  _ all,” _ Shane grumbles. “Jas, go inside.”

Jas nods and silently obliges. Once she does, I’m left with one of the single most pathetic living entities known to humankind... and my dog.

“So. Dog training.”

“Dog training,” Shane agrees. “Listen. I know absolutely fucking  _ nothing _ about this, alright? I don’t know what my aunt promised you, but if she’s making you pay anything—”

“She’s not,” I admit immediately. “I think she’s worried about you.”

The man snorts. “Who  _ isn’t? _ But hey, I’ll do my best. Not that it’ll be any good…”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Sure, yeah, okay. Well, I need a shower. I’ll be back.”

The first day of dog training goes about as well as I expected, which is to say, not well at all. On the plus side, if Shane  _ is _ Yellow, then I’m keeping an eye on him. If he  _ isn’t _ Yellow, petting an extraordinarily friendly dog is probably good for him. Can’t hurt, at least.

Shane, for his part, gives up after about three hours. Sprawled across the summer grass, a hand slung over his head, he tells me, “I can’t do this.”

Merlin licks his face helpfully.

I take a seat beside him. “Sure you can.”

“No, I really,  _ really _ can’t. You know that. Aunt Marnie knows that. Hell, even the dog knows that.”

Merlin licks him again. Shane raises a hand to scratch him behind the ears. His eyes are closed in the early afternoon sun.

“I think we’re making progress.” I shrug. “It’s the first day.”

“And I am  _ telling you there shouldn’t be a second. _ ”

“Merlin likes you. Give it another go?”

Shane opens his eyes just to glare at me. “Fine. But not today, not tomorrow, and I’ve got work during the week.”

“Next Saturday, then.”

_ “Fine.” _

The dog’s tail thumps against the ground enthusiastically. Merlin nudges Shane’s face with his nose and then gives him another big lick. Shane sighs, pets the dog, and adds, “This is  _ only _ because your dog is cute.”

* * *

Today is the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies. For the most part, the day is pretty normal: I set about harvesting anything that’ll die in the colder temperatures of fall in the morning, then spend the rest of the day getting wood together for Robin.

It won’t do for Caroline to find out I don’t actually have my own chickens, after all. Besides, I kind of want some now. They lay fresh eggs, they’re not  _ too _ high maintenance and so long as I can keep them out of my crops, they can have free range of the farm. Pretty good deal, as far as chickens are concerned.

Do I  _ maybe _ have an unreasonable amount of famous wizard names lined up already for my future chickens? Nope. I don’t. Four chickens and four names is a perfectly reasonable amount, and they’re perfectly reasonable names. Even if they weren’t,  _ Yennefer _ has nothing on  _ Terrorbeak. _

Future chickens aside (Marnie’s got a brooding hen), today is the day. Or, perhaps more specifically, tonight is the night.

Tonight is the night. I’ve been waiting for this for weeks, and yet I can’t exactly show up to the beach  _ early. _ So, instead, I work on clearing more of the entire goddamn  _ forest _ that is still a solid fifty percent of the farm’s area. When the sun goes down, I check my watch—eight o’clock, still got a couple hours—set a lighting charm, and keep working.

The sun’s been down, the stars have been out, and the moon is nearly at its height when I happen to check my watch again. It hasn’t been that long. I’m expecting it to be ten, maybe eleven at latest.

My watch reads 11:47 PM.

The boat is released at midnight.

It’s a twenty minute walk from the farmhouse to the beach.

_ “Fuck,” _ I say for no reason in particular. Then I break into a mad sprint for the road.

* * *

On his leash beside me, Merlin lets out a joyous bark as we race out onto the sand. My lungs scream for air. I keep running toward the villagers gathered in various places on the pier. We get closer, and I see someone with hair too dark to tell the color wave me over to one side.

It’s Abigail, and she’s not alone. Sebastian’s seated on the edge, legs dangling well above the water. Sam has his legs tucked into his chest and is staring out across the nighttime sea. Penny is reading a book, using a phone with a wrench sticker on the back for light.

“You made it here at  _ literally the last second,” _ Abigail tells me, hands on her hips. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“One, I wasn’t actually late. Two, I got distracted.” I shrug helplessly. “Three, I brought a dog?”

Penny’s hand snaps up from her book. “Holy  _ Yoba _ you have a dog. Hi! Can… I pet him? Are they a him? What’s their name?”

“Yes, yes, and Merlin.” I fasten Merlin’s leash around the railing post close to Penny. He proceeds to plop right down into Penny’s lap, belly exposed for rubs. “Damn. He looks like he likes you.”

“I… don’t know  _ why _ he would, but…” Penny shrugs, leans in, and rubs his belly. “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? It’s  _ you! _ You’re the good boy!”

Merlin thanks her by slobbering all over her face. She makes a grossed out gasp, then laughs and scratches his belly harder.

“Careful with your phone,” I say. “That’s… a  _ bit _ close to the edge for comfort.”

She turns, grabs it, and stuffs it partially under her leg. “It’s not… actually my phone. I don’t have a smartphone. But, um, thanks…”

“Wait, whose—” Sebastian catches a glimpse of it. “Why do you have my sister’s phone?”

“I have no idea. She said something about me taking better pictures and her having to help her dad with something?”

Sebastian scoffs. “Typical Maru. Always making other people do things for her.”

“Um… no? She did ask politely. I think she felt bad about having to ask, but she couldn’t exactly tell Demetrius no  _ this late… _ ?”

“Whatever.”

Penny bites her lip and resumes petting my dog wordlessly.

_ “Anyway,” _ Sam says a little too loudly, “what took you so long, Azalea?”

“Chopping down trees,” I answer, glad for a distraction.

“Wait. Actually?”

“Yes…?”

“How? With  _ magic?” _

Penny, still petting Merlin, freezes.

“No,” I say flatly, “with an axe. Do you know what an axe is?”

“Nah—um,  _ duh _ I know what an axe is, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Just last week,” Sebastian adds unhelpfully. Sam decks him, half-heartedly, in the shoulder. “I’m right and you know it.”

“Sure, but you shouldn’t say it,” Penny says quietly.

“No,” Abigail says, “he should. We love you, Penny, but really, you’re just too nice.”

“I know.”

“No, really, you don’t have to be that nice to  _ everyone. _ ”

“I know.”

Abigail blinks at her, confused. “Then why  _ are you?” _

“Because it’s the nice thing to do.”

“...right.” Somehow, I get the feeling Abigail is even more confused. She cups her hands around her mouth and shouts over to where Lewis is,  _ “Hey! _ What’s taking so long?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Lewis calls back. “Having some trouble with the matches. It’ll be just a few more minutes…”

“Let me try,” comes a familiar voice from near him. The matches light once Caroline gets them, and the candle boat is soon off on its way.  _ “There _ we go.”

Even as the boat floats out to sea, and the lunaloos come floating in, I can’t quite keep myself from staring at that other pier. I might have imagined it. It might have just been the glow from the matches finally cooperating. I probably  _ did _ imagine it, but… what if I didn’t?

Well, if I didn’t, all thoughts of that soon give way to awe. The lunaloos are, after all,  _ quite _ beautiful. Penny takes picture after picture with Maru’s borrowed phone, although I for one will be  _ very _ surprised if any of them come out well. Magical creatures aren’t easy to record, after all, and lunaloos are no exception to that rule.

But she still makes an attempt or several, and then oohs and aahs over how beautiful they are with the rest of us. They really  _ are _ more dangerous than anyone here but me knows—but in person? They’re one of the prettiest sights I’ve ever seen.

_ Beautiful but dangerous _ is really a common theme when it comes to most things relating to magic. And from what I’ve heard—although no one’s really tested it, because warlocks are busy enough with spellmaking and field testing is for scientists—lunaloos tend to leave you alone if you respect the ocean and don’t dump all kinds of gross shit into it.

In retrospect, that might be why Joja does all their shipping by plane these days. 

They didn’t always.

* * *

Penny of all people finds me before I can slip away into the night and go home as fast as I dare in the dark. “So,” she says quietly, “you said last time we talked… you’re a wizard?”

“So is Abigail,” I agree, “but yep. I kind of want to get home and get to sleep, so… talk and walk?”

“Um… s-sure. I want to get home fast too.”

Penny is a stark contrast to the rest of the villagers, in that case. Everyone else seemed more than happy to chat away and watch the waters in case the lunaloos came back. That being said, I didn’t see Shane after the last of them went back out to sea, so maybe saying  _ everyone else _ isn’t entirely accurate.

“I… think my mom might be a wizard too,” she blurts out when we’re halfway across the bridge back to Pelican Town.

“Oh.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense for how she set the bus on fire! No…  _ actual _ fire I can think of would do that much damage, unless it was with a  _ lot _ of gasoline. And…”

“And?” I prompt, now a bit more curious.

“She buys too much beer to buy that much gasoline,” Penny says matter-of-factly. “So… can you tell me if she’s a wizard? Can you tell if  _ I’m _ a wizard?”

“Sort of.” I shrug. “I can tell that she’s got red essence and so do you—”

“Red  _ what now?” _

“Don’t worry about that right now, it’s  _ way _ too late to get into that tonight.” I wave a hand dismissively. “Basically, everyone has this energy they can use to do magic, but not everyone has it  _ unlocked _ or has enough to do anything useful _. _ Your mom might be a hedge mage or something. Untrained wizard is the official term, basically… you can do some magic stuff if you’re really emotional but you can’t control it. And those abilities go away really fast once your essence is actually unlocked.”

“...right,” Penny says slowly. I probably dropped a bit too much on her at once. “How do you unlock this… essence, aura, stuff?”

“I actually don’t know. I know someone who  _ would _ know, but he’s…” I think of Rasmodius, and wince. “A little hard to reach at the moment, let’s say that. I can let you know the instant I have someone who does know? Or find out myself?”

“If… it’s not too much trouble.” We’ve reached Penny’s house by now—or more accurately, the trailer she shares with her mom. She turns to me. Gulps nervously. “I just have, um… one last question. Is being a wizard inherited?”

“Some aspects of it might be. In your case, I’d say if your mom is that powerful a hedge mage, you’ve got a good shot.” I smile at her. “Just try not to bottle up your emotions too much—that tends to set things off if you’ve got a lot of essence swirling around in there.”

At  _ bottle up your emotions, _ Penny visibly deflates. “Um. Alright. I’ll try. Goodnight, Azalea.”

“Goodnight, Penny. Happy… end of the summer?”

She unlocks and opens the trailer door, waves, and she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to Pelican Town, a friendly valley community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and everyone is a wizard until proven otherwise.


	8. Free Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: discussion of suicide.**

Fall is, to put it bluntly, not my  _ favorite _ season of the year. It can’t quite commit to whether it wants to bake me alive in the confectionary oven of summer heat or deep freeze me in the bitter chill of winter, and  _ that’s _ more irritating than either of the seasons it’s between. Summer gets unreasonably hot sometimes, but there’s things like cold drinks and ice cream to keep me from actually dying—not that summer isn’t still my second least favorite season, of course. And winter is the actual  _ best, _ from eggnog to never overheating when you do things outside to snow.  _ Snow! _ Snow sure gets old for some people, but it never does for me.

Spring has the same issues of noncommitment, but where everything dies in fall, everything comes alive in spring. Fall, in short, is objectively the worst season of the year.

Naturally, fall is  _ also _ the season I was born in, because of course I had to be born in a season with commitment issues.

But as far as falls go, this one isn’t too bad. I spend more time with Abigail’s friends, who are weirdly becoming  _ my _ friends too, than I planned on, expected to, or necessarily would have wanted to earlier in the year. I plant and water and harvest my crops, although I plant less this season than I did in summer. After all, no one needs a repeat of the Wheat Incident, me least of all.

I find excuses to stop into Joja while Shane’s working,  _ mostly _ because of the A/C when it’s a hotter day or the heating when it’s a cooler day. He comes over on weekends to pretend he knows a thing about dog training and isn’t just coming to cry into my dog’s fur while I’m out of the room, and while I do keep an eye on him outside of that, at this point it’s less because I’m genuinely suspicious of him being Yellow and more because the guy  _ needs _ therapy and petting my dog is the closest he’ll willingly get to it.

Honestly, I don’t even  _ like _ Shane. I don’t think a lot of people around here do. When all someone does is sit in the corner and drink and tell you to go away, it isn’t exactly conducive to forming new friendships— _ or _ maintaining existing ones. I’d know. I know even better how that ends, if no one reaches out before it’s too damn late.

It’s not like I’m any stranger to shitty stepparents, or friends who are convinced the world would be better off without them. The world certainly isn’t in any hurry to prove them wrong. It didn’t, for her, until it was too late for anything to matter anymore.

Penny’s birthday, on the second day of September, comes and goes. I give her my old spellbook. Abigail gets her a couple bags of tea leaves (and only winks at me when I ask her where she got  _ tea _ instead of  _ coffee _ in  _ this _ town.) Sebastian gets her a couple of comic books and the movie adaptation of the first book in  _ Chronicles of the Equinox, _ the latter apparently being from Maru. Sam gets her a jazz DVD, something that’s a much bigger hit than I expected it to be.

Pam gets her a case of beer. As soon as her mother’s left the trailer, Penny empties all six bottles directly into the dumpster. She forces a smile, looks at all of us, and says, “I… think I need to be alone now.”

She doesn’t mention it when I see her the next day. I do, however, take one look at her and go get Merlin.

* * *

I did  _ not _ finally get a new phone just to be woken up before Terrorbeak’s shrieks by some asshole texting me at five in the morning. I ignore my phone, roll over, and go back to sleep.

Or, I try to, because my phone dings twice more in quick succession. I groan, open my eyes, and fumble for it. It  _ could _ be something important. Maybe Abigail found out who Yellow was… at five in the morning, for some reason.

The text is not from Abigail. It’s from Sam, having added me and four others to a group text dubbed, quite eloquently,  _ HELP SAM SURVIVE TO THE WEEKEND. _

Eyebrows already raised at that, I click on it, and scroll to the top—the other people here have already started raising questions, so I’ll leave that to them. Group members include me, Sam, Sebastian (no surprise there), Abigail (also no surprise there), Penny, and… weirdly enough, Maru.

I sigh, roll my eyes, and change my display name to  _ not _ have my full name.

> _ [SAMSON PETERSON] changed their display name to [SAM]. _
> 
> _ SAM: HI SO FIRST OF ALL IM SORRY BUT SECOND OF ALL I AM FUCKING DEAF IF YALL DONT HELP ME WITH THIS SO PLEASE IF OUR FRIENDSHIPS MEAN ANYTHING TO YOU AT ALL _
> 
> _ [SEBASTIAN WOODS] changed their display name to [SEBASTIAN]. _
> 
> _ SEBASTIAN: dude 1) calm down and 2) do you know what time it is _
> 
> _ SAM: YES AND IM SORRY _
> 
> _ SEBASTIAN: it couldnt wait until the sun was up _
> 
> _ SAM: ITS A FUCKING DISASTER _
> 
> _ SAM: I WILL BE DEAD WHEN THE SUN IS UP IF YOU DONT HELP ME _
> 
> _ [MARU WOODS-AGUILAR] changed their display name to [MARU]. _
> 
> _ MARU: ngl I’m not entirely sure why I’m here at all but what can I help you with? _
> 
> _ SEBASTIAN: no no actually why is she here _
> 
> _ [ABIGAIL PIERS] changed their display name to [ABIGAIL]. _
> 
> _ SEBASTIAN: also, deaf? _
> 
> _ SAM: *DEAD OMY _
> 
> _ SAM: because my dad is going to be video calling us at seven and I promised him I’d have a date the next time I talked to him _
> 
> _ ABIGAIL: y’know i was about to ask why you were texting us at FIVE IN THE MORNING but that makes sense now _
> 
> _ SEBASTIAN: not really, you could just lie? _
> 
> _ SAM: you really, really, REALLY think that ANYONE will believe me? _
> 
> _ MARU: Vincent might! _
> 
> _ SAM: vincent is ten and not the problem here _
> 
> _ [PENELOPE FLANAGAN] changed their display name to [PENNY]. _
> 
> _ PENNY: What are we talking about and why is Vincent involved? _
> 
> _ SAM: dad is video calling us at seven because, you know, timezone weirdness _
> 
> _ SAM: i promised him id have a gf or a bf or a dm and i have NONE OF THOSE _
> 
> _ ABIGAIL: dm? _
> 
> _ SAM: datemate _
> 
> _ ABIGAIL: oh cool _
> 
> _ [AZALEA NORTH] changed their display name to [AZALEA] _
> 
> _ SAM: WHAT AM I GOING TO DO??? _
> 
> _ PENNY: You could just… tell him? _
> 
> _ SAM: out of the question _
> 
> _ MARU: then the obvious solution is to either get a date within the next two hours, or get someone to pretend to be your date within the next two hours _
> 
> _ SAM: you think hes gonna believe that??? _
> 
> _ MARU: you did ask for a solution. take it or leave it, I’m going back to bed _
> 
> _ SAM: MARU PLS _
> 
> _ SEBASTIAN: thats what you get for asking her for help _
> 
> _ SEBASTIAN: …….and she just yelled FUCK YOU all the way from upstairs _
> 
> _ ABIGAIL: KSJDBFLSKJDBFLKSJDFBLKJDBF _
> 
> _ SEBASTIAN: if that doesnt wake anyone else up ill eat my hoodie _
> 
> _ SAM: ok ok but. still got a problem here _
> 
> _ AZALEA: I… might have a solution. sort of. _
> 
> _ ABIGAIL: is magic involved??? _
> 
> _ AZALEA: mayyyybe _
> 
> _ SAM: listen im ALL EARS _
> 
> _ PENNY: I thought you were Sam? _
> 
> _ ABIGAIL: KSJDLBFKSBDFLLJSDBFLKSDJBFKMCKJDSF _
> 
> _ ABIGAIL: PENNY 1 SAM 0 _
> 
> _ AZALEA: um. Anyway. You’re gonna need someone to pretend to be your date, or even an actual date if you can manage it, but I know a spell that makes it… let’s just say less obvious that you’re lying. _
> 
> _ AZALEA: I’d have to be nearby to do it though _
> 
> _ SAM: could u _
> 
> _ SAM: maybe _
> 
> _ AZALEA: gods no I need to concentrate to cast the spell and even if I didn’t, I am NOT pretending to be your girlfriend unless you want me to break up with you while in the video call _
> 
> _ SAM: i think that would probably be worse _
> 
> _ AZALEA: exactly _
> 
> _ AZALEA: get someone who can lie at least somewhat better than you, and give me a reason to be hiding in the bushes outside your house at seven in the morning _
> 
> _ SAM: the power of friendship? _
> 
> _ AZALEA: a good reason. _
> 
> _ SAM: the power of friendship IS a good reason! _
> 
> _ AZALEA: for hauling ass across town and doing some really complex spellwork before I’ve had my coffee? no fucking thanks _
> 
> _ SAM: …….penny? _
> 
> _ PENNY: On any other day, I’d love to help!  _
> 
> _ PENNY: But Joja’s doing an investigation into who burned down their bus and I… don’t trust Mom to handle it on her own without getting arrested. _
> 
> _ ABIGAIL: another one??? _
> 
> _ PENNY: Yeah :( I think they know it’s her, they just don’t have any proof. _
> 
> _ PENNY: And if I have anything at all to do with it, they won’t find any. Ever. _
> 
> _ SAM: if u need help distracting joja lmk later _
> 
> _ SAM: abigail? maybe? pls? _
> 
> _ ABIGAIL: if no one else can, sure _
> 
> _ ABIGAIL: but I for one nominate Seb _
> 
> _ SEBASTIAN: hwha _
> 
> _ SAM: sebastian can you please please please please PLEASE pretend to be my boyfriend for two hours, tops, ill buy you pizza  _
> 
> _ SEBASTIAN: sure i guess _
> 
> _ SAM: please im begging u _
> 
> _ SAM: wait _
> 
> _ SAM: really??? _
> 
> _ SEBASTIAN: you underestimate the extent of what i will do for pizza _
> 
> _ AZALEA: cool, cool, what about me? _
> 
> _ SAM: what WILL motivate you to haul ass across town to get here in time _
> 
> _ AZALEA: honestly? Just leave some coffee on the windowsill. _
> 
> _ SAM: THANK YOU _
> 
> _ SAM: cream or sugar? _
> 
> _ AZALEA: if you want, i usually drink mine black _
> 
> _ ABIGAIL: gross _
> 
> _ AZALEA: that is the point of drinking it black, yes _
> 
> _ AZALEA: I need to get ready. Leave the coffee on the windowsill with the best view of where you’ll be making your call from. _

And so, I put the phone down, blink up at the ceiling blearily, and  _ groan. _ That coffee had better be hot or disappointing his father will be the  _ least _ of Sam’s worries.

(The coffee is hot, and black, just the way I like it. There’s a couple packets of creamer next to it, and a message scrawled onto a sticky note:  _ coffee is a good place to start being less bitter. _ )

(I roll my eyes, but empty the creamer in anyway. No sense letting it go to waste.)

* * *

“This is news to me too,” Sam’s mother, with his brother in her lap, tells his father. “Of course it was obvious they had the hots for each other for a  _ very _ long time—”

Sam chokes on his coffee. Sebastian pats his back awkwardly, even as he’s flushing slightly redder than usual. 

“Sammy, are you okay?” Vincent asks.

Sam coughs into his fist and says, “Fine, Vince. Thanks.”

Sam’s mother is a tall, thin, modest woman named Jodi most frequently seen with an auburn braid across one shoulder and a polka-dotted pink dress. His little brother, Vincent, has spiky reddish hair not unlike his mother’s in color, but much more like his brother’s blonde in messiness.

Sam’s father—I’ve gathered by now his name is Kent, thanks to Sam leaving the window open just enough for sound to travel out—is a gaunt, exhausted man with the unruly hair of both his sons in a slightly darker blond than Sam’s. He wears a uniform that doesn’t fit his frame as well as it should, and keeps looking over his shoulder like he’s expecting something—someone—to be there.

I know that I happen to live in a country called the Ferngill Republic. I know that the Ferngill Republic happens to be at war with the Gotoro Empire. I also know that wizards largely stay out of the political struggles of the world, only claiming allegiance to a country in order to represent the wizards of that country on the Council of Grandmasters.

But I know what a war means. It means soldiers on both sides fight, and die, and are captured, for causes they may not know the half of. In Kent’s case, I can’t know anything for sure—but given how long it’s been since Sam has heard anything from his dad, and how uncomfortable he gets about the subject, I don’t think anything good happened to him while he was out of contact.

But he’s laughing and joking with his family, and Sebastian, and for right now, he’s fine enough.

“You know, Sammy,” Kent says eventually, “I have to say, I was expecting you to bring home a pretty girl...”

Sam laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I like both, surprise?”

“Not a pretty boy,” Kent continues without skipping a beat, “and definitely not Robin’s boy. Although really, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Wait, what?”

“It was going to be him or Caro’s girl,” Jodi supplies.

“What??”

“I saw him and Penny climbing trees once,” Vincent pipes up unhelpfully.

“Yes, and?? Since when was getting someone to let loose a little for once in her life indicative of a relationship?”

“In this town,” Jodi says with a shrug, “you take what you can get.”

“Yeah, and that’s for shi....  _ stuff _ that’s painfully obvious like Marnie and Lewis, not my nonexistent love life!”

“Mostly nonexistent,” Sebastian corrects, still a bright cherry red. “I suppose it’s too much to ask that you won’t tell my parents about this.”

Jodi laughs. “I won’t if they don’t ask—but given that it’s even more unheard of for you to be up this early than it is for Sam,” she ruffles her elder son’s hair affectionately, “I’ll be very surprised if Robin doesn’t ask.”

Sebastian sighs. “Kill me now. Please.”

“Illegal,” Vincent proclaims. “You’re big brother’s boyfriend!”

“I guess I am. There are worse things.”

(For all Sebastian claims to have been embarrassed by having to pretend to be Sam’s new boyfriend, and continuing to do so until they can safely and quietly ‘break up,’ he is smiling when he leaves to return home. It fades as soon as he realizes I’m looking, of course—but a smile was definitely there.)

(It suits him.)

* * *

It rains the next Saturday. Or, more accurately, it storms. Lightning cracks across the sky, thunder following it so quickly they’re nearly as one. The rain pours down in thick, wet droplets. Then the wind comes, sending it flying nearly sideways, and sending Merlin racing back inside with a startled yelp.

Evidently Merlin likes getting wet exactly as much as I do when it’s nearly cold enough to be winter. I glare at the sky, and that glare only intensifies when some of those big, fat droplets connect with my glasses. I pull them off and shove them in an interior hoodie pocket before squinting out at the now much blurrier rain.

Somehow, I get the feeling that Shane’s not coming for dog training today. I sigh and head inside as well. I won’t be needing to water my crops today, that’s for sure.

But there’s only so much I can do inside, and I do have a raincoat and an umbrella Pierre talked me into buying early in summer. I’d been using them to head out to the mines and... experiment, a little, with explosions. 

I could do that. Or I could head out to Marnie’s. The ranch is a shorter walk, and it’ll be good to see Jas and Marnie too. I know they’ll be happy to see Merlin.

Decision made, I grab my raincoat, and my umbrella, and Merlin’s leash. The dog in question takes one look at the leash and whines.

“It won’t be that bad,” I promise. “Besides, you can just shake the wet off. I can’t.”

Merlin does not seem to think being able to rapidly get un-wet is an equal exchange for lacking the gift of speech, but he stops protecting vocally or by digging his claws into the ground. We step out the door. Almost  _ immediately, _ my umbrella is inverted and torn from my grasp.

_ “LEVO!” _ I shout against the storm. The words are ripped from my lips, but my hand still glows red, and so does the umbrella handle. I pull it back towards me, slowly, carefully. When my hand closes around the umbrella again, I collapse it immediately, and stick it into my bag for if the wind gets better.

It occurs to me, slightly late, that I should have put my hood up  _ before _ stepping outside. My hair is soaked. So are my glasses. I sigh, pull both the hood of my hoodie and raincoat up, and don’t even bother with cleaning my glasses yet. I’ve got a normally-short walk ahead of me, made much,  _ much _ longer by the wind and the rain and the mud. My glasses are  _ going _ to get wet again at some point during it.

It occurs to me, even later, that maybe the smart thing to do would be to go back inside and stay there. But by the time I think of that, I’m already further than halfway to Marnie’s. I can’t exactly turn back now.

So I don’t turn back. I’m not about to let a little  _ storm _ get the better of me, even if it’s a bit too wet and windy to be accurately referred to as little.

The walk to Marnie’s normally takes ten minutes, five if I speedwalk and have already had my morning coffee. Today, it takes nearly twenty, and I could cry from sheer relief when her door is in sight.

Naturally, it’s right then that Merlin starts tugging back on the leash again.

I groan, and tug right back. “Not  _ now, _ Merlin, we’re almost there!”

He stands his ground with an indignant,  _ “Boof!” _

...or he  _ would _ stand his ground if it wasn’t so wet. He slides towards me, paws scrabbling unsuccessfully for purchase before eventually plopping down in a heap. In the  _ mud. _

“Whatever it is,” I tell him, “it can wait until  _ after _ the storm’s over. See, Marnie’s place is right there! We’re gonna go see Jas! And Marnie! And Shane!”

Merlin gets up and trots back over to me, but not before looking back one more time.

“Merlin.  _ Merlin. _ It can  _ wait _ and honestly, squirrels really aren’t as important as you think they are to chase! Especially not in  _ this _ weather.”

My dog boofs, clearly offended by this blasphemy. But he stops pulling against me long enough to get in the door. Marnie looks up from where she’s seated behind her shop counter, Jas swinging her legs from her own seat atop said counter.

“Azalea?” Marnie asks, like it would be anyone else.

“Hi, Marnie,” I say wearily. “Gonna just apologize in advance for the—” 

Merlin shakes himself dry. Mud that’s more water than dirt goes flying everywhere, but mostly onto me and on the floor. I sigh. I can’t even be annoyed, I’m just glad we made it here.

“Mess,” I finish. “That didn’t take long.”

“Boof,” Merlin agrees cheerfully.

“It’s lovely to see you as always,” Marnie says, standing carefully, “but what are you doing here? Where’s Shane?”

I freeze. “...I was looking for Shane. He isn’t here?”

“He left an hour before the storm started,” Jas pipes up. Her lower lip quivers. “We thought… he’d just decided to weather out the storm at your place.”

“But he never got there.”

“Jas,” Marnie says sharply, “grab something of Shane’s from his room. The stinkier, the better.”

The girl nods and bolts. Once she’s out of earshot, Marnie continues, “I  _ sincerely _ hope that dog can track.”

“He can,” I lie. 

I don’t actually know for sure if he can. But if Merlin can’t,  _ I _ can. I just can’t tell Marnie that.

Marnie’s shoulders sag. “Good. I’ll get my coat—”

“No,” I say. “You need to stay with Jas. I… I’ve been here before. If you don’t keep an eye on her, she  _ will _ run out into the storm looking for him, and we don’t need…” I let myself trail off. I don’t need to finish to see the somehow sympathetic and scared look in Marnie’s eyes.

“Okay,” she replies. She takes a deep breath, and lets it out. From the look of things, it does absolutely nothing to calm her nerves.

“Okay,” she says again. “I’ll stay with Jas. I… just find him. Please. Before it’s too late.”

I ignore the dark feeling in my chest whispering that it’s already too late, and nod. “I’ll find him.”

“Here you go, Aunt Marnie,” Jas says in a quieter voice than usual—which is saying something, given that she’s not exactly  _ loud _ at the best of times. She holds something made of white cloth up to Marnie. “Stinky man socks.”

Marnie holds them up to her nose. It wrinkles in unconscious disgust, and she quickly passes them to me. I pass them to Merlin, who sniffs them furiously, then bolts for the door.

“I’ll find him,” I yell as I throw the door open with my leash hand, and then we’re off. I manage to tuck the socks into a side pocket of my backpack as Merlin sniffs the muddy ground directly in front of the ranch, and then we’re off again—towards town.

_ Not _ towards grandfather’s house.

Either Merlin has the trail of a drenched squirrel or something instead, or Shane didn’t go where he said he was going at all. The storm’s lightened some, at least, so I can follow my dog at a faster-but-still-safe pace. It won’t do anyone any good if I slip and wipe out entirely.

The walk from Marnie’s ranch to the middle of town typically takes about ten minutes. That walk takes twice as long if it’s storming outside, or half as long if you run. It’s still stormy, but I also go at a fairly fast pace.

In the end, Merlin takes a seat in front of the Stardrop Saloon and wags his tail about seven minutes later.

“You know what,” I tell him, “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

Merlin boofs judgmentally. I open the door and pull my dog in after me.

“Hey, Azalea,” Gus greets, wiping down a mug. 

“Hi, Gus,” I say in return. “Sorry about the mess. Wasn’t about to leave my dog outside in this weather.”

Gus audibly snorts. “Smart. It’s just some mud, and it’s not as if I’ll be able to keep the entry clean on a day like this anyway.”

“Ha, yeah.” I look around. “You seen Shane today?”

_ “Shane?” _ Gus gives me a strange look. “Do you know what time it is?”

I glance at my slightly waterlogged watch. “Almost one?”

“Azalea, I  _ just opened the doors. _ I don’t exactly get up early most days, either. I haven’t seen Shane since last night… although I was a bit worried about him then. Drinking more than usual, even for  _ him, _ and badmouthing Joja to anyone who would listen. Which was mostly Pam.”

“That… doesn’t sound good,” I say warily. “You’re sure he wasn’t here?”

“No, just that he wasn’t  _ inside. _ I would have sworn I heard someone banging on the doors a couple hours ago, something like that. Was a little before I normally get up, so I  _ thought _ I was dreaming it, and when I finally got out of bed to go check there was nothing but the rain waiting for me. Do you think that was…”

“Maybe,” I say. “Thanks for your help. I’ll, um… anything else I should know?”

“He made it home okay? I… didn’t want to have to cut him off that early, but—”

“He made it home okay, last night,” I confirm. “It was sometime this morning that he… thanks. I’ll find him. Thank you.”

With that stunning example of verbal eloquence, I return to the storm. Merlin trots alongside me for about two feet before sitting down and boofing.

“Shane isn’t  _ here,” _ I tell him.

_ “Boof!” _

I sigh, pull out the  _ exceptionally _ stinky socks, and let my hands glow red, then orange. The socks glow orange, too, with a tracking spell. I focus, concentrate. Take a deep breath.

When I came to Stardew Valley, I knew exactly one intervative spell that wasn’t dark magic. Thanks to Rasmodius’s short-lived teaching, I now know exactly two. This is the second, and if it doesn’t work… I don’t know what I’ll do. So it has to work.

It does. A figure outlined in orange essence, flickering with red and yellow, appears in front of me. His hands are in his pockets, his head is hanging, and even if I  _ didn’t _ have to know what someone looks like to use a tracking spell, it would be obvious this was Shane.

As I watch, the echo of him runs up to the door and knocks on it. Quietly at first, then louder until he’s banging on it. There’s no response. The Shane of an hour ago lets his head rest on the wood for a moment before squaring his shoulders, turning, and walking—back toward Marnie’s.

I let the spell fade, for now. It won’t do to have a glowing orange spectre leading me through the streets of the town, no matter  _ how _ stormy it is. Someone could see, anyone could see, and anyone  _ could _ be Yellow. Anyone could be, as the junimo aptly put it,  _ bad magic not friend. _

So I call up the spell every minute or so, just to make sure I’m going the right way. I am, until I reach the door to Marnie’s ranch. I watch, wet and silent, as not-Shane goes to open the door, then freezes. His shoulders sag again. He takes his hand off the doorknob, and he steps away before running.

He runs out into the forest. I follow, this time maintaining the spell. The echo of him glows brighter the closer I get. Finally, when it’s so bright I can barely look at it, I end the spell, cup my hands around my mouth, and shout, “SHANE!”

For a few, terrifying seconds, there’s no response. I’m too late. Again. And then, so hard to hear over the wind and the rain I could have imagined it… “Over here. I guess.”

Merlin is off like a shot. We break through the trees to the cliffs at the edge of the forest, and the couple yard’s worth of clearing between the steep drop into the ocean and the trees. Shane’s there, lying on his stomach with his face in the mud and a beer bottle still half-held in a hand, empty ones strewn haphazardly around him.

He is  _ soaked, _ drunk, and probably chilled to the bone. I glare at the sky. Lightning cracks across it and thunder booms in response, and this time I give the sky the finger before kneeling down beside him and tugging at his free arm. “Shane, come on. Let’s get you out of this.”

“Wwwwhy,” he slurs. “S’not like I’m worth anything to anyone.”

Merlin boofs indignantly and nudges his nose directly into Shane’s ear. The drunk man splutters, “Hey!”

“Good dog,” I tell Merlin, and then, “at risk of sounding cheesy as all shit, you’re worth quite a lot to quite a lot of people.”

“Right. Name… name one.”

“Marnie. Jas.” The next one’s a bit of a long shot, but… “Gus.”

“Gus doesn’t give a  _ shit _ about me. He just cares about keeping me alive so I keep drinking my life away and making him  _ rich.” _

“I… really,  _ really _ doubt that.”

“Then you’re stupider than you look.”

“You are in  _ no _ position to talk,” I counter on instinct. Then I wince. “Okay, that one’s probably not helping, you’ve got a point.”

“No I don’t and you  _ know _ it… I’m just… I’m just useless. Why don’t you just… run along, and say you couldn’t find me…”

“First off,  _ no. _ Second off, have you  _ met _ me? I think your aunt’s a better liar than me.”

“There is…  _ no way… _ that you’re a worse liar than her.”

Shane still makes no move to get up, to move toward the forest  _ or _ the cliffs. Maybe I’m making progress. Or maybe I’m not.

“Just… just walk away. Or… I don’t know… give me a good reason not to… to just roll off this cliff. Tragic… accident.” We both know it would be anything  _ but _ an accident, although  _ tragic _ is an accurate description. “I’d like a reason…”

“Give me a good reason why you  _ should,” _ I counter.

“Because I’m  _ useless! _ I’m small, and stupid, and  _ useless, _ and I can’t even…” He hiccups. “I c-can’t even…”

“You lost your job.”

“Yeah, I-I  _ did! _ How did you… even…”

“Gus was worried about you.” My knees are starting to hurt, so I take a seat next to him on the muddy ground instead. A raincoat can be washed. A friend can’t be brought back from the dead. “I’m going to be completely upfront with you here: Joja fucking  _ sucks. _ They’ll fire you for the smallest thing. They fired  _ me _ for… well, okay, that wasn’t all that small actually but still, not worth firing me over.”

_ “You _ worked at Joja?”

“Mart in Zuzu, yeah. Was a cashier for a while, and honestly, I was on the verge of quitting already when they fired me, so…” I sigh. “Your job doesn’t define you. I’m sure Marnie would be willing to put you up for free if you helped out with the animals. Might even be willing to pay you.”

“She  _ would,” _ Shane agrees. “But I don’t… deserve it. I don’t deserve to even  _ be _ here. Jas should… she should have her parents. Not me.  _ They _ should be here. Not me.”

I don’t ask. Instead, I take a deep breath, stare out into the rain on the ocean, and say, “Do you want to know why I’ve  _ really _ been insisting you help train my dog? It’s not just because Marnie asked me to.”

“Not really. But I get the feeling you’re telling me anyway.”

I nod, even though he’s not looking at me. “I used to have this… let’s say a tutor, for this really niche club, you wouldn’t have heard of it. The tutor fucking sucked, but there were three of us that stuck together. Me, and two other girls. Aaliyah and Izabel. With them, it was… well, it was  _ bearable, _ actually. Almost fun, and definitely not worth giving up and dropping out like too many others did. I… miss them.”

“Let me guess,” Shane mutters, “one of them got depressed, killed herself, and you’re telling me this to stop me from doing the same.”

“You’re half right. If only it was that simple.” I take a shaky breath. “Izabel’s stepfather was the tutor. How in the  _ world _ he and her mom had hit it up, I don’t know, but they had, and Iza was… not doing so well.”

“So she—”

“Please shut  _ up _ and  _ listen. _ Iza wasn’t doing so well, but she had Liyah and me. Her older sister, Mariana, had no one except their shitty stepdad cutting her down. So, yes! She killed herself! And  _ that _ was how everything fell apart. Mariana wasn’t even… she wasn’t even  _ buried _ yet before their stepdad started blaming Iza. Their mom, of  _ course, _ took her new husband’s side. And of course, because Aaliyah and I were in Iza’s corner, guess who  _ else _ got blamed? We were the hardest working students in his class, but he gave us the hardest work, the most dangerous assignments. Iza had always been crushing on Aaliyah—really, who  _ wouldn’t _ —but just when Iza finally worked up the courage to ask her out, Aaliyah  _ disappeared. _ The note she left for her family said she’d gone to join the war effort. But when we went to the nearest military camp, they didn’t have any record of her  _ anywhere. _ And she was patriotic, sure, but not  _ that _ patriotic.”

“You… think Izabel’s stepfather killed her,” Shane concludes.

“I  _ know _ she did. And Iza knew she did. But without any proof… we couldn’t do anything. Iza ran. She begged me to run, too, and I did…” My hand rests on my cheek. I can still feel her lips there, sometimes. “But not soon enough. I stayed, because I wanted  _ proof. _ I wanted  _ vengeance. _ All that did was get me blacklisted by every wiz—everyone involved in that club in the country. So I fled,  _ then. _ I’d heard rumors that Iza went to Ferngill, so I went to Ferngill too. I couldn’t find her in Zuzu City. I… I gave up looking when I came here.”

“So…  _ why _ are you telling me this?” Shane asks. He sounds a bit more lucid now, which is a definite positive.

“I guess…” I shrug. “Because it was Mariana’s death that brought everything crashing down, and none of us even  _ knew _ until Iza started frantically texting us about the bathroom door being locked and there being  _ blood _ seeping out from under it, and… we should have known. We should have been there for her. Maybe with her, we would have been able to stand against the single worst person I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting—and I worked for Joja for five years, by the way. But without her… I wasn’t even able to mourn her, I was so busy fighting and then running.”

Tucking my knees up to my chest, and resting my chin on them, I continue, “I guess I’m telling you this because you deserve to know why I’ve gotten so invested here. I’m not going to tell you how much you have to live for, because you  _ know _ how much you have to live for, probably better than me. I’m not going to tell you who needs you, because you know that too, and I’m not about to make you feel even  _ worse _ about yourself now. I’m not going to tell you that it would be a sin, because that would be the most hypocritical thing I’ve ever said. I might be a hypocrite, but I’m not  _ that _ much of one.”

Shane doesn’t answer. I keep going, “In the end, the choice is your own, not anyone else’s. I know what I and nearly everyone you know would want you to choose. The only person who would genuinely want you to die here would be Morris, and honestly, it’s worth it not to just to spite his ass. You’ve got options. You’ve got people who care about you and are willing to help you out of this. If you need to talk to someone, my door’s open—but what you really need is to talk to a professional. I used to—”

I realize, quite suddenly, that he’s passed out. Okay. Well, I’m not about to just  _ leave _ him here. I take a deep breath. Open my phone, shielding it from the storm with my body. And call Marnie.

* * *

I never get the whole story of what drove Shane that far, but it’s not hard to guess from the pieces of it I do have. Morris fired him from Joja Mart for reasons that could be anything, but don’t matter that much in the long run—I heard from Sam that he hadn’t even gotten a warning before being let go. Shane completely gave up, and… well, that’s when I found him.

Harvey recommends him to a counselor in Zuzu. When Shane comes by the next day, partially to apologize, partially to ask if I think Harvey’s got the right idea—I’m a little surprised to see that Harvey recommended the same counselor I used to go to.

“Yeah, she’s good,” I tell him. “I’d be surprised if the doctor  _ didn’t _ recommend someone good. Actually, hey, something you should know, she does a lot of her meetings remotely after one beginning face-to-face one, so you’ll only have to make the drive once or twice.”

Shane nods, and doesn’t ask how I know that. Instead, he says, “Thanks.”

I get the feeling he’s not just talking about right now. I nod, and say, “Anytime. You need someone to talk to, or even just talk  _ at, _ I’m usually around. And chopping down trees is good stress relief.”

He snorts. “I bet it is. Before I head out…”

“Yes, you can pet Merlin.” I lean back into the house and call my dog. He rushes over, boofing happily, and only stops for a second before barrelling into Shane’s arms. “I think he’s more glad you’re okay than I am.”

“Yeah. Not what I going to say, but. Thanks. Listen, I—I don’t remember all that much from last night, honestly, but… I’m sorry about your friends. Mariana and Aaliyah.”

“No need. There is literally  _ no possible way _ you could have been involved.”

“Still—hope you find Izabel again. Someday.”

I smile sadly, but nod. “I’ve all but given up on that, at this point. But maybe, someday.”

“Most of this town had all but given up on  _ me,” _ Shane says pointedly. “Anyway, I need to get off to Zuzu. See you.”

He turns with a wave, and I watch him go. Only when he’s disappeared around the bend in the lane do I call Abigail.

_ “Hey,” _ she says immediately.  _ “What’s up?” _

My smile becomes a smirk. “The—”

_ “Besides the sky, that is.” _

Rolling my eyes, I say, “Shane is  _ definitely _ not who we’re looking for. And honestly, I’m thinking more and more that it  _ is _ Morris.”

For a few seconds, there’s nothing but silence from Abigail’s end. Brutal, oppressive silence, the silence that is hiding something. At last, she says,  _ “That’s a problem. Because I’ve been thinking more and more that it can’t be him.” _

“What? Why not?”

_ “Because I think it might actually be my mom.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! I've realized, slightly late, that there is absolutely no possible way this story is going to be completely done in 50k words. updates might slow down a bit after the 50k mark, but this _is_ a first draft after all so they probably won't slow down all that much. could be done in 60k or 70k, depending on how much the plot keeps getting sidetracked with ingame events. *glares at the Stardew Valley Fair*
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading so far, hope you enjoy the rest just as much! <3


	9. Mishaps and Missteps

I stare at Abigail, blearily, over my mug of coffee. We’re seated at my kitchen table, two separate perimeter spells cast just to be doubly sure no one’s eavesdropping, and Abigail’s got her own mug with maybe an inch of actual coffee and the rest creamer and sugar.

“You think that Yellow is Caroline,” I say, “because… why, exactly?”

“Because,” Abigail replies, “she was using  _ magic. _ ”

“Yes… and? You use magic. I use magic. Linus uses magic. Honestly, it’s not that weird that your mom uses magic, you  _ are _ training to be a wizard.”

“No, no, you’re not getting it! She was using magic to burn up some papers. I was curious and kind of suspicious, so I tried using that one spell you use, I forget what it’s called but, you know, the orange one.”

“Reversion spell?”

Abigail snaps her fingers. “Yeah! That’s the one. It didn’t work super well and I can’t get them any less burnt than this, and also I’m pretty sure she shredded them before she set them on fire, but…  _ look at this.” _

She passes me a scrap of paper. There’s one readable word on it, circled:  _ Rasmodius. _

“So… she knows Rasmodius. Well, if she’s a wizard, it isn’t exactly a  _ surprise _ that she’d know the other one in the area.”

“You’re  _ still not getting it! _ Okay. So the day of the Flower Dance, she went to go talk to him, right? And then about ten minutes after he left, she went walking back to town to use the bathroom. Except she  _ didn’t. _ She was gone for  _ ages. _ She went to the tower and, well, you know.”

“No, I really, really don’t.” I sigh. “This is all circumstantial stuff, Abigail. Do you have any real, actual proof that your mom is the wizard we’re looking for, or are you just mad at her?”

“Oh, I’m mad at her, but that’s  _ because _ of this. Not because of anything else.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Not because of what you were texting the group chat last night about your mom  _ always _ taking your dad’s side?”

“Completely unrelated.”

“Right,” I say skeptically. “In that case, you keep watching her, and I’ll keep watching Morris, because  _ I _ genuinely think it’s  _ him. _ ”

“Not just because you’re biased against Joja.”

“Nope.”

_ “Or _ because you felt like you were going to throw up that one time you were in there.”

“That was nothing to do with magic and everything to do with ungodly amounts of air freshener. Sam was gagging in the back.”

“Exactly! So there’s  _ no need _ to look into  _ Morris, _ because he’s clearly a douche but he’s a  _ nonmagical _ douche. It’s Caroline.”

“And what if it’s not?”

“Then maybe it  _ is _ Morris. For all we know, maybe it’s  _ both _ of them—okay, no, absolutely not, they’d never work together.”

“Yeah, no, they wouldn’t.” I sigh. “How sure are you that it’s Caroline?”

“Very,” Abigail says firmly.

“Then… let’s focus on her. Morris is  _ already _ putting up flyers saying he’s hiring, but odds are nobody’s going to respond for a while. I want to investigate him sooner or later, but let’s make him squirm first if it is him. Caroline, well, we’re already able to investigate her.”

_ “I _ am, anyway.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, you certainly are. She’s easier. We’ll be able to find evidence for her, if there’s any evidence to be found. Are you prepared to deal with her, though?”

“If she tried to set those junimos on  _ fire? _ If she did  _ Yoba knows what _ to Rasmodius, and what, sent Linus’s tent on fire for shits and giggles?” Abigail cracks her knuckles. “She’s going  _ down.” _

_ “If _ it’s actually her.”

“If it’s actually her,” she echoes. “Trust me. It will be.”

* * *

Mysteriously and apparently overnight, Abigail seems to have completely reconciled with her mother. She goes with her to the exercise group on Tuesdays, helps her with cooking, and generally, finds ways to come along for nearly every errand Caroline runs. I know better, and most of our friends probably at least  _ assume _ the truth, but none of us say as much.

What Abigail doesn’t handle, I do. Those few errands that Caroline insists she has to do alone, well—she isn’t anywhere near as alone as she thinks she is. I stay out of range of any proximity spells on her end and I get quite a lot of mileage out of both muffle spells and invisibility spells on my end. 

It’s abundantly clear by now that she’s a wizard—and she doesn’t know her daughter is a wizard, too, because those errands she insists on running alone always involve magic. Well, almost always. On Abigail’s birthday, she excuses herself to take a walk and makes it halfway to Rasmodius’s tower before turning back emptyhanded. She does this not once, not twice, but  _ three times. _

That’s really, really weird, but it’s not exactly a smoking gun, so we keep watching. We keep watching, even as we  _ know _ that time is running out. But we don’t know what  _ for. _ Rasmodius’s notes provide little insight on the matter. The very last entry in his journal, slightly singed, only had one legible word:  _ chains. _

Time’s running out. It could run out any day now, any moment. We need to act.

The Stardew Valley Fair might just be the perfect time to do it.

* * *

Every year at the Stardew Valley Fair, anyone who wishes to participate can sign up for a grange display, showcasing their unique talents and what they’ve accomplished. I find out the morning of from the mayor that, apparently, I’ve been quite literally grandfathered in, and Pierre for one is excited to finally beat the owner of Northstar Farm.

Well, we can’t have that, even if I’m  _ really _ being put on the spot here. Time to consult the group chat.

> _ AZALEA changed the chat name to [HOME ON THE GRANGE] _
> 
> _ AZALEA: hey everyone, who wants to make pierre cry _
> 
> _ ABIGAIL: i know exactly what you’re talking about and i’m so here for it what do you need _
> 
> _ AZALEA: whoa calm down _
> 
> _ ABIGAIL: no <3 _
> 
> _ SEBASTIAN: sure……? _
> 
> _ SAM: uh idk but why not _
> 
> _ PENNY: I don’t really want to make Pierre cry :( _
> 
> _ MARU: he won’t actually cry.  _
> 
> _ PENNY: Oh, okay! I’m in then! _
> 
> _ MARU: so am I _
> 
> _ AZALEA: maru? why do you even _
> 
> _ AZALEA: you know what, nevermind. the grange displays are apparently based on diversity and quality.  _
> 
> _ AZALEA: goes without saying i’ll split the prize with you all. so, here’s what we’ll need… _

Instructions sent out, I flop back onto my bed with an exhausted sigh. This is  _ really _ the last thing we need right now. As if on cue, my phone rings. Abigail.

I hit the button to answer, put it on speakerphone, and let it fall to the mattress again.

_ “You really want to beat my dad, huh?” _ Abigail asks.

I make a noncommittal noise. “I  _ really _ want to find Yellow, but yeah. I’ve been  _ challenged, _ dammit, I’m not going to let him  _ win. _ ”

My friend laughs. As she does, Merlin noses my foot hanging off the bed. I nudge his nose back with my foot before continuing, “Really, though, I just wish I’d had more time to prepare. Think we stand a chance?”

_ “If everyone brings what you asked them to? Absolutely. Don’t worry, I’ve got my stuff.” _

“Already?”

_ “Well, I know how I’m going to get it, and I’m going to get it as soon as I hang up, but listen. I have an idea. The fair is the perfect opportunity to expose her.” _

“O...kay?”

_ “She gets talkative when she’s drunk. Really, really,  _ really _ talkative when she’s drunk. We get her talking, she won’t be able to stop.” _

“And… how are we getting your mom drunk?”

_ “Spike her drink,” _ Abigail says without skipping a beat.

“With  _ what? _ You’ve got the right idea outing her here, but that’s too complicated to do on short notice. I’ve got a better idea: truth spell.”

_ “Truth spell? Aren’t those…” _ She pauses.  _ “Unreliable?” _

“A little, and it’ll definitely out one of us as a wizard if we’re not careful. Might be worth using a short-term memory wipe too. But do you have a better option?”

_ “...I was thinking just challenging her to a drinking game might do the trick. But it also might get everyone else drunk.” _

“Doing magic drunk is  _ not _ a good idea. Please don’t ask how I know this.”

Abigail does not ask how I know this.  _ “Wasn’t there something about truth spells being dark magic?” _

“Dark magic, no. Kind of unethical, yeah. But you said it yourself: it’ll be worth it if we expose her, and if you’re really, really sure it’s her…”

_ “I’m sure.” _ Abigail sighs.  _ “I just really, really don’t like this.” _

_ Me either, _ I don’t say. Instead I tell her, “It’ll be worth it.”

It  _ has _ to be worth it. With that in mind, I push myself off my bed and grab Rasmodius’s notebook. I remember seeing  _ something _ about that in there.

* * *

Judging for grange displays doesn’t start until two. Sebastian and Maru turn up just after one with a bag of goodies from the abandoned mines not much further up the mountain from their house. They’re the last people I was waiting on, and for a few moments, I really can’t help but stare.

“Where did you…” I shake my head. “Thanks. Is that a  _ prismatic shard? _ Where did you find  _ that?” _

“That, Dad let me borrow for the day,” Maru says cheerfully. “The rest came from the mines.”

“The mines that none of us are allowed into.  _ Those _ mines.”

“Demetrius is allowed in there for,” Sebastian makes air quotes,  _ “science. _ Maru’s his assistant, so she gets a pass too.”

“Not that I usually go very far.” Maru laughs nervously. “And if anyone asks, Seb wasn’t with me. And we didn’t go past floor 20.”

“You?” Abigail asks from where she’s taken a seat on the edge of our grange display. “Breaking the rules?  _ Willingly?” _

“Rules are  _ usually _ there for a reason. If it’s a good reason, I’ll follow them. If it’s not? It doesn’t matter if you don’t get caught.”

“Maru,” Penny says emphatically, “I  _ love you.” _

“Aww, thanks! Better be careful, though, I’ve got a girlfriend.”

Penny grins. “Then she’s the luckiest girl around, I’d say.”

“When did  _ you _ get a  _ girlfriend?” _ Sebastian cuts in.

“Well before you got a boyfriend, brother dear,” Maru responds. “Assuming you two are still pretending.”

Sebastian looks at Sam. Sam looks at Sebastian.

“Yeah,” Sam says tightly, “we are.”

“Cool. I’ll, um. Go get some food. Stick around until the judging’s done, at least. I don’t really care about the points, Penny can have mine, I’ll be back.”

Maru waves and disappears into the crowd, leaving the five of us standing around a grange display. I haven’t looked at the competition yet, but we’ve sure got  _ variety, _ and ours looks pretty good.

“You don’t think,” Penny says hesitantly, “that Pierre will  _ actually  _ cry. Do you?”

Abigail snorts. “Please. He’s never cried in my  _ life. _ I’m not convinced he’s  _ capable _ of crying.”

“Everyone’s capable of crying,” I say quietly. “If you don’t do it often, that just means you’ll cry so much more when you  _ do _ cry. Abigail, do you think—”

“Mom’s with Dad. They’re getting ready.”

“We can work with that.” I return my attention to the others. “Hey, guard our display for a few minutes? We’re sizing up the competition.”

“Sure,” Sam says. “Have fun.”

That’s enough of an excuse for them, so I follow Abigail through the crowds to her house (or more accurately, Pierre’s shop.) She puts her hand on the doorknob, begins to turn it, and—hesitates.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” Abigail says. “I mean, there’s no guarantee we’ll even get what we’re looking for. Not unless I’m really obvious, and…”

“You won’t need to be obvious,” I tell her. “Just argue with your parents like you always do. Ask them what they’re hiding. The truth spell will make sure Caroline tells you it.”

“But what if she’s hiding something  _ else? _ She could just say  _ that _ instead.”

“Then keep asking. This is our big chance to find her out once and for all.”

Abigail stares at the door. “It’s a bit late to back out now, isn’t it?”

I rest a hand on her shoulder and give it a squeeze. “You’ll be fine. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be right there.”

“Yeah. I know you will.” She turns it, and steps inside. I follow her. “Hi Mom, hi Dad, you mind if Azalea uses the bathroom real quick?”

“What, the festival ones not cutting it for you?” Pierre asks, eyeing me warily.

“They’re portapotties. Have you ever  _ been _ inside a portapotty?”

“I’m not going to touch anything, I just need to use the bathroom,” I say hastily.

“It’s in the back,” Caroline says, gesturing down the hall in the other direction from Abigail’s room. I nod a thanks and go for it.

We’d agreed that, to keep up appearances, I’d actually have to  _ go _ to the bathroom. So I do, as quickly as I can, and creep back down the hall.

Abigail, to her credit, is doing  _ amazing _ at pissing off her parents. I can hear her yelling from here, even  _ before _ I lean carefully around the doorframe, whisper,  _ “Veritas,” _ and watch as a translucent sphere of blue connects with Caroline’s back. It disappears immediately. With any luck, she won’t have noticed, but just to be safe I duck back out of sight and cast an observation spell, too.

Abigail, however, knows what to be watching for. And dear  _ Yoba _ she looks furious. “I am so, so  _ so _ tired of you treating me like a child! I’m  _ not _ a child! I haven’t  _ been _ a child for  _ three years!” _

“Young lady,” Pierre begins.

_ “Don’t _ you young lady me,  _ Dad,” _ Abigail hisses. “I’m  _ not _ your little girl anymore. I’m an adult. I  _ get _ to  _ do _ things. I  _ get _ to not tell you everything, because  _ I’m not a kid. _ I don’t expect  _ you _ to tell  _ me _ everything, because that’s  _ basic privacy! _ But hey, if you’re going to ask  _ me _ what  _ I’m _ hiding, how about you? What are  _ you _ hiding?”

“I’m not answering that.  _ Calm down.” _

“I’m  _ not _ calming down until you apologize to Azalea! She would  _ never _ cheat. At this point, I’m beginning to wonder if we should be worried if we see  _ you _ anywhere near  _ our _ display. Which  _ is _ going to win, and you’re going to  _ eat your words. _ ”

“Abby, honey—” Caroline tries to say, only for Abigail to turn on her, too.

“And  _ you. _ What are  _ you _ hiding? Or are you going to say that little things like  _ privacy _ only apply to  _ parents, _ too?”

Caroline’s eyes narrow. Her mouth opens, undoubtedly to retort something else along the lines of agreeing with Pierre.

What comes out instead is: “Pierre isn’t your father.”

All eyes go to Caroline. Pierre and Abigail both stare at her, dumbfounded. Caroline claps her hands over her mouth, but it’s too late now. It’s  _ far _ too late.

“What?” Pierre asks, in the smallest voice I’ve ever heard.

“Mom?” Abigail says. “What do you—that’s not what it was supposed to be, you were supposed to…”

“Abigail,” Caroline says evenly. Her fists are clenched. “What did you  _ do?” _

“Nothing you didn’t drive me to. You  _ know _ what you did. To those junimos, and to—”

“How do you even know what a junimo  _ is? _ I haven’t seen one in years!”

The truth spell is still holding. I’d know if it had failed. She’s… telling the truth. She’s telling the truth.  _ She’s telling the truth. _ Well, fuck. I’ve got to get Abigail out of there.

I open my eyes, walk in, and make a show of looking around. “Uh… what did I miss?”

“Nothing important,” Abigail says furiously. “Come on. We’ve got a grange display to win.” She takes me by the arm and all but drags me out.

Before I’m entirely out the door, I look back. Caroline isn’t meeting anyone’s eyes. And Pierre… Pierre is  _ crying. _

* * *

We win the grange display, by a lot. I get a sixth of our winnings, and spend the rest of the fair betting on a probably-rigged spinning wheel and rigging said spinning wheel in my favor instead. By the end of the day, I’ve got enough for a fedora.

I put it on immediately. I’ve been needing a good hat for a while, and it’s easy to ignore the looks of others by pretending I just don’t see them. Like Caroline’s suspicious—not to mention  _ betrayed _ —looks from across the fair. Pierre seems to be fine, minus the fact that he’s drinking a frankly concerning amount. 

At the end of the day, Abigail and I find ourselves sitting on the swings in the old playground north of town, staring out at the fair cleanup but neither of us really looking.

“We fucked up,” Abigail says at last.  _ “I _ fucked up.”

“At least we know it’s  _ not _ Caroline now?” I offer, tentatively.

“I was already starting to think it wasn’t her. And now? I can’t go home.”

“They’ll forgive you. It’s not your fault that—”

“But it  _ is _ that it came out, and they both know it, and I can’t  _ face them. _ Not after this. Not…” She sighs. “Not for a while. I guess what I’m asking is, can I crash on your couch for a while? I can help. With the farming.”

“You don’t have to. Help, that is. Of  _ course _ you can crash on my couch, what are friends for?”

She cracks a grin. “Helping you not feel like  _ utter _ shit when you’ve exposed your mother’s deepest, darkest secret for… what? Basically nothing.”

“We know it’s not her now, at least.” I pause. “Do you…  _ want _ to know who your real father is?”

“Don’t really care one way or the other, honestly. Pierre  _ raised me. _ He’s my dad. Doesn’t matter if we’re actually related or not.”

I make a vague noise of assent. “It might mean a lot if you told him that.”

“It might. But it also might get me officially kicked out of the house, so… yeah. I think I’ll pass on that.” She kicks up off the ground, then pulls her legs up and swings back and forth a little. “Definitely going to avoid them for a while. At least a week. Maybe they’ll be so glad to see me in a week that they won’t be mad.”

“Maybe,” I say skeptically. “If they are, they’re better than mine.” To this day I wonder how different things might have been, if they’d only believed me.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” I open my bag, dig out a couple of only slightly-smashed burgers. “I snagged these from Gus’s table earlier, figured I’d be much hungrier later on. Want one?”

“Yeah.” She takes it. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Impulsively, I touch the side of my burger to hers, as if clinking wineglasses together. “To being roommates, Abigail Piers.”

She laughs. “To being roommates, Azalea North.”

* * *

Fall is more enjoyable this year. It’s a very strange feeling, actually  _ liking _ the season of indecisiveness, but it’s Abigail’s favorite time of the year, and she won’t shut  _ up _ about it. The autumn leaves, I’ll grudgingly admit,  _ are _ very pretty when they fall. And it  _ is _ nice having a cool day right after a hot day and vice versa, just to recover from the extreme temperatures.

It’s abundantly clear now, though, that the villain we’ve dubbed Yellow is  _ very much not Abigail’s mom. _ Good news, temporarily living together means it’s much less suspicious for us to be hanging out together. Bad news: Abigail misses her parents. Quite a bit, actually.

Also, I’m pretty sure Pierre has started charging me more for seeds than he used to, so that’s fun. When I confront him about it, he claims it’s because the seeds themselves are more expensive and he can barely compete with Joja as is.

He might be telling the truth. But the glare he levels my way when he thinks I’m not looking says otherwise. I gather up my purchases and return to the sales counter.

“You know,” I say as he’s ringing them up, “she didn’t mean—”

“Don’t. Don’t you  _ dare _ tell me that the girl who I  _ just _ found out  _ isn’t _ my—” He glances at Jodi, reading a magazine in the opposite corner, and lowers his voice. “She found out she wasn’t my daughter and  _ immediately _ left. I think I know exactly what she means.”

“She’s scared,” I say. “That you’ll hate her.”

“Mmm.”

“She doesn’t care if you’re her real father or not. As far as she’s concerned, you were there for her more than some nameless, faceless guy who she’s never even met.”

“That’ll be 600 gold.”

I pony up the money, gather up my wheat seeds, and add, “I’m sorry too. We thought… we thought Caroline did something really horrible. The plan was to figure out whether or not it was her once and for all, not… that.”

“If Abigail wants to make excuses for herself, she can make them  _ herself, _ instead of sending you to make them for her.” Pierre glares at me. “I will say, however, that I’m  _ far _ angrier at her for invading her mother’s privacy than I am with Caro.”

“Oh, right, the privacy that you’ve  _ always _ respected on her end. You don’t have the moral high ground you think you do.” I roll my eyes. “Were you even married back then?”

“No, and we had an open relationship. If I’m angry at her for anything, it’s for telling me that  _ I _ was…” Pierre clears his throat. “That’s none of your business. Get out of my shop.”

I do so, nodding respectfully to Jodi on the way out. And I grab the notice for Joja having open applications on the billboard outside before I head back to the farmhouse. 

* * *

“You seriously think this is a good idea?” Abigail asks.

I stare down at the application on the table, frowning. 

_ JOJACORP: NOW HIRING, _ it reads in big, blue, bold lettering. Whatever hapless, underpaid graphic designer had made this must have had a field day.  _ APPLY NOW TO A MART NEAR YOU! LIFE’S BETTER WITH JOJA. _

If life’s better with Joja, I’m the Grandmaster Wizard of Ferngill. No, not even that, I’m the goddamn Grandmaster Supreme. 

“Honestly? No.  _ Absolutely _ not.” I don’t take my eyes off it. “But it’s the best option we’ve got for catching him in the act, and now that we know for  _ sure _ that it’s him—”

“Or we missed something with everyone else…”

“If we did, fuck everything, we’re going on a road trip to see Welwick. A third pair of magical eyes can’t possibly hurt.”

“Not a third pair of magical eyes that we know is on our side, anyway,” Abigail agrees. “That one spell we saw from her was indigo essence, right?”

“Yeah,” I agree. “No possible way she would be Yellow.”

“If Zuzu wasn’t so far, I’d have gotten over there sooner. And if the bus wasn’t still broken down.”

_ “Broken down _ is putting it lightly. Pam set that shit on fire and I love that for her. Honestly, I’m not entirely convinced she knows what she did, or if she did anything.”

“How do you miss  _ setting a bus on fire?” _

I shrug. “You’d be surprised at some of the explanations people come up with to avoid accepting that they just did magic. Pam probably was planning to destroy the bus anyway and as far as she’s concerned, it coincidentally set itself on fire before she could.”

_ “Coincidentally.” _ Abigail audibly snorts. “People really believe that?”

“There’s a reason most of the world doesn’t believe in magic. Why would they, when science can offer up some explanation or another about energy fields or chaos theory or whatever  _ other _ thing explains away the entire point?”

“Okay, no, we’re not getting into that, you’ve actually been getting along with Maru lately. Shut up and eat your breakfast, I want to see what Welwick’s got to say today.”

So I do, picking away at my food, and watch as Abigail turns the TV on. 

_ “Welcome back to Welwick’s Oracle,” _ intones the woman in dark blue robes, gazing into a crystal ball.  _ “If you seek hidden knowledge of the future, well, you’ve come to the right place.” _

“Does… she actually need the crystal ball?” Abigail asks hesitantly.

“I’m not super familiar with precognition,” I admit, “but I’ll go ahead and say  _ probably _ not. It’s probably just for show, but on the other hand, I could be wrong.”

“Azalea North?  _ Admitting _ she’s wrong? Wow.”

I roll my eyes fondly. “You, shut up.”

_ “Welcome, welcome everyone! My foresight tells me that’s all the viewers we’ll be having today, so let’s get to it then, shall we? Let’s see here…” _ Welwick passes a hand, glowing indigo, over the crystal ball. It too glows indigo, and that indigo glow eventually coalesces into a sphere, magic swirling around it.

“Do you think—”

“Shh!”

_ “This is rare.” _ Welwick sounds moderately surprised. “ _ The spirits feel absolutely neutral today. The last time must have been when I visited Stardew Valley for their local fair—lovely place, lovely event by the way, I intended to say hello to some new friends while I was there but couldn’t quite find them.” _

I look at Abigail and mumble, “Shit, she was  _ there?” _ In return, I receive an only slightly confused shrug.

_ “Of course,” _ Welwick continues,  _ “I attend the fair every year, and set up a booth as a fortune teller. I offer readings for free, of course, because any student of divination who does not is either a fraud or truly desperate for cash. That being said, donations from the fair always help me pay the bills, and justify the long drive for that matter.” _

“Sounds like she  _ was _ here, and we  _ just _ missed her.” Abigail grabs the remote and turns off the TV. The display winks out in an instant. “Goddammit.”

“Agreed,” I say. “There’s no other way we can get in touch with her without going to Zuzu City ourselves, is there?”

“Or getting someone else to go and having them visit her and get a phone number or something. But the only person I know who goes to Zuzu regularly is Da… Pierre, and somehow I get the feeling he’s not going to be too happy to see me.”

I sigh. Breakfast finished, I grab my plate, stack Abigail’s own empty one on top of it, and beeline for the kitchen sink. “No, he isn’t.”

“So our best option really is…” She makes a face. “Joja.”

“I  _ might _ be able to get Shane to reach out to Welwick? But…” Wait, no, he switched to online counseling. “Never mind, actually, he doesn’t go to Zuzu anymore.”

“So, Joja.”

“Joja,” I agree, and mime barfing. “I might actually need you to help with the farm a bit, if Morris gives me Shane’s old shifts. I can handle the crops  _ or _ the animals before work, but not both.”

“I’ll take the crops,” Abigail says immediately. “Your chickens hate me.”

“They’d hate you less if you spent more time with them. Speaking of which, I’d better go feed them. And then…” I pick up the application for Joja. “Time to go back to the job I swore I’d never go back to.”

“It’s for a good cause?”

“Two of them.” I grin wryly. “Finding Yellow,  _ and _ getting Shane his job back. If I’m useless enough, and I’m clearly the only other person in town remotely interested in working at Joja, Morris—or whoever comes after him once we’re done with him—will have no choice but to beg Shane to come back.”

_ “Two _ good causes, then.” Abigail yawns. “You want me to handle the crops today, too?”

“If it’s not too much trouble?”

“Course not.”

“I  _ love you,” _ I say emphatically, and head out the door. Merlin stays with Abigail, tail thumping away merrily on the ground. I walk past my crops—mostly wheat, assorted other things—on my way to the chicken coop.

I look at the door, then the side door for the chickens.

Sometimes, you just have to be impulsive. I open the side door, then crawl through it, pulling the egg basket with me. I get several surprised clucks.

“Hi, girls,” I say as I get to my feet and brush myself off. “How was your night?”

Yennefer clucks noncommittally. Glinda tries to bite my fingers when I reach in for her nest, but I manage to get the egg out in one piece by giving up my  _ other _ fingers as a peace offering. Titania leaps down from the rafters, fluttering down to the ground and clearly very annoyed at not being able to properly fly. Morgana rubs against my legs and lets out a pleased noise that sounds more like a chirp than a cluck.

“I’m going to take that as a  _ not terrible,” _ I tell my chickens. “Well, door’s open, thanks for the eggs, hope you lot have a better day than I will.”

With that I head for the human door and turn the doorknob. I realize, just a little bit too late, that the latch is on the outside. I groan, set down the egg basket on Yennefer’s nest, and crawl back out the way I came in.

A couple minutes later, human door properly opened and egg basket full of eggs acquired, I head back to the house.

“Crops are watered,” Abigail says without looking up. She’s petting Merlin.

“Thanks,” I say, and give Merlin a pet of my own. “I really do appreciate it.”

“Hey, it’s no big deal. I really appreciate you letting me squat on your couch. You didn’t have to—”

“Of  _ course _ I did. What else are friends for?”

She laughs, and scratches him behind the ears. “Yeah. You know, I’ve always wanted to live out on a farm like this one.”

“Really?” I put the eggs in the repurposed carton in the fridge. “Why?”

“Dunno. Just seemed… almost romantic, in a way. To just live out on a farm with no dependence on society, just living off the land. Society depends on  _ you, _ not the other way around.”

“Well, minus wifi,” I point out. “It’d be a bit hard for either of us to live without that.”

Abigail laughs harder this time. “Yeah, you’re  _ so _ right. But you know, I heard one of Maru’s projects is developing free wifi that works everywhere.”

_ “Everywhere?” _ I raise an eyebrow. “Not sure we could even do that with magic.”

“Starting with Pelican Town, but yeah. Then again, she’s got a billion projects going at any given time, so who knows when that one’ll get finished.”

“If she actually pulls that off, I take back everything I ever said about her, and science, and… not Demetrius, that’s a little bit too far.”

Abigail hides a smile with her mug of coffee. “Speaking of Demetrius—I had a  _ great _ idea for what to do today while you’re applying for Superhell Incorporated.”

Despite my best efforts, the very smallest of giggles escapes me at  _ Superhell Incorporated. _ “Tell me all about it once I get back.”

* * *

Sam’s working when I get to Jojamart, stocking towering shelves of Joja Cola in the back from a storage pallet balanced precariously on a cart. I hold it up as subtly as I can with one hand, and say, “Hey, Sam.”

“Azalea?” Sam shoves the case in his hands onto the shelf rather harder than he needs to, then climbs down the ladder and jumps from the fourth step up. “Azalea! What are you doing here?”

“Pierre’s still mad at Abigail, and she’s holing out at my place, so…” I shrug.

“Right, yeah, I remember hearing about that. What did they do to her to make her just leave like that?”

My vaguely friendly smile tightens into a grimace. “It actually wasn’t their fault, mostly. But it’s not my place to say.” No matter how much I  _ want _ to get involved and try, at least, to fix things. “But really, not here to shop, here to apply.”

“Directly to forehead, or for a job?”

“A… job? Why would I… you know what, not even gonna ask.”

“I dunno, the possibility of you applying Joja Cola directly to your forehead was a lot more likely than you applying  _ here. _ To  _ work. _ And also would be a lot shorter of a time commitment in the long run. Didn’t you, like… work at Joja before?”

“Yeah.”

“Back in Zuzu?”

“Mhm.”

“And you got f—”

I give him a look, and he hastily corrects what he’s saying to, “...fed up with it all? The corporate work, the customers, the everything?”

“Yep!”

“So  _ why _ are you  _ applying here?” _

“Need the money,” I say with such a winning grin Sam has to know instantly it’s a lie. He can’t be that thick.

He isn’t that thick. “You have a  _ farm.” _

“Yeah, and? Growing things doesn’t exactly pay the bills.”

“You’re telling me it didn’t for the last three seasons?”

“It would,” I lie, “if Pierre wasn’t overcharging me for seeds now.”

I don’t think Sam believes that, either, but he doesn’t argue when I ask to speak to the manager. Instead, he says, “Sure, just let me finish these. They  _ will _ fall if I leave them unattended and I really,  _ really _ don’t want to clean cola off the floor again.”

There’s definitely a story there. I let him stock a couple more cases before asking, “Is that why Shane got fired?”

“Well,  _ officially, _ he wasn’t fired. Officially, I’m also not supposed to chat with the customers.” He nods towards the nearby wall. I look. There’s a camera there.

Honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised. At all.

“Do they have cameras in the bathrooms, too?” I ask.

“Officially, no.”

Which means  _ unofficially, yes. _ “About what I expected.”

“Seriously, though, why  _ are _ you here?”

“Maybe I felt like reconciling with the other seed store in town,” I say with a shrug. “Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I’ll give you more specifics on Friday.”

“Friday, the usual place?” Sam hefts the last case of cola. “I’ll be there.”

“Good.” I watch him shove the cola into its own place. “How do you  _ like _ that stuff? Not judging, just curious.”

“The answer I give most people is because I work here, it’s got caffeine which I am in dire need of while I’m working here, and I get an employee discount. The answer I’ll give  _ you… _ how about we save that for Friday, too.”

“Sounds good.”

“Then, in that case,” he leaps down from the ladder, and bows low with a flourish, “I’ll show you to the manager’s office. Good luck.”

_ You’ll need it, _ is what he doesn’t say.

* * *

“You’re back earlier than I expected,” Abigail says as I step in and hang my fedora by the door. “How did it go?”

“I spent more time talking to Sam than I did talking to Morris,” I say with a shrug. “And honestly, none of that talking to Morris was face to face. Which is probably for the best, because I doubt he’s connected my voice with my face, never mind my face with my name. I just slid my application under the door and got the fuck out.”

“Probably a good plan. I do  _ not _ envy you having to pretend you don’t hate him.”

“I wouldn’t envy me either.” I pause, considering. “Actually…  _ do _ I even have to do that?”

“What do you mean?” Abigail asks slowly.

“I mean, Morris isn’t going to care if I hate him as long as I do my job halfway passably. He’s just going to want to make sure I won’t sabotage his store. Which I won’t! That he knows of.” I wink. “If he asks, I’ll spout some shit about my enemy’s enemy being my friend.”

“And your enemy is…?”

“Technically, Pierre. Which I don’t like any more than you do, but…” I sigh. “We’ve come this far. If we can at least figure out who Yellow is and stop them—”

“Him,” Abigail corrects.

“Probably, yeah,” I agree. “It’ll be worth it, in the end. We can fix things with Pierre and Caroline once we’ve saved the valley.”

“The valley?” She raises an eyebrow. “The way Rasmodius was talking, I would have thought it was the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y i k e s
> 
> on a much nicer note, I just finished Nanowrimo! fic itself is gonna be closer to 60/70k I think. but We Shall See.


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